“Kalliope and the Dirty Boy,” said Mrs. Grinstead, laughing. “A dreadful conjunction; I must go and see if it is possible to establish the line between the sublime and the ridiculous.”
“Shall I ask your nephew’s leave to let you go,” said Lady Merrifield, “after all the orders I have received?”
“Oh, no—” she began, but Gerald had jumped up.
“I’ll steer you over the drawbridge, Cherie, if go you must. Yes,”—to the young ladies—“I appreciate your needs. Nobody has the same faculty in her fingers as this aunt of mine. Come along, Mona, it is Mrs. Henderson’s stall, you know.”
Ludmilla came, chiefly because she was afraid to be left, and Lady Merrifield could not but come too, meeting on the way Anna, come to implore help in arranging the Dirty Boy, before Captain Henderson knocked his head off, as he was much disposed to do.
Gillian had bounded on before with a handful of sandwiches, but Dolores tarried behind, having let the General help her to the leg of a chicken, which she seemed in no haste to dissect. Her uncle went off on some other call before she had finished, eating and drinking with the bitter sauce of reflection on the fleeting nature of young men’s attentions and even confidences, and how easily everything was overthrown at sight of a pretty face, especially in the half-and-half class. She had only just come out into the verandah, wearily to return to the preparations, which had lost whatever taste they had for her, when she saw Gerald Underwood springing over the partition wall. Her impulse was to escape him, but it was too late; he came eagerly up to her, saying—
“She is safe with Mrs. Henderson. I am to go back for her when our duet comes on.”
Dolores did not want to lower herself by showing jealousy or offence, but she could not help turning decidedly away, saying—
“I am wanted.”
“Are you? I wanted to tell you why I am so interested in her. Dolores, can you hear me now?—she is my sister.”