She was past even appreciating the bathos. 'It is no laughing matter,' she said; 'it is so uncivil, when he is so kind. I can't imagine what Felix is thinking of?'
'Croquet,' said Lance briefly; then seeing the flushed, quivering, mortified face, he added, 'Wilmet has not forgotten you one bit, Cherry; but Alice Knevett and Robin did so want to see the fun in the mead—there's running in sacks, and all sorts of games—that there's no getting any one away; and the W's are in charge, and can't leave them to their own devices, so she said perhaps you would be more rested by lying still than rattling home.'
'Oh, I dare say Wilmet is as sorry as anybody,' said Cherry rather querulously, for the needle point was pricking her again.
'And as to your dear old Froggy,' continued Lance, 'she says he told her he did not in the least expect you back by this train, and if you did not come by it, he'll stay in town for the 8.50.'
'How very good of him!' said Cherry, beginning to be consoled. 'And Felix at croquet!'
'Alice is teaching him. You never did see such a joke as old Blunderbore screwing up his eyes at the balls, and making at them with his mallet like a sledge-hammer. He and Alice and Robin and that Bisset curate are playing against Bill, two of the girls, and Shapcote—Bexley against Minsterham; and little Bobbie's a real out-and-outer. She'll make her side win by sheer cool generalship.'
'And poor little Angel?' The needle point was a pang now.
'Oh, Angel is happier than ever she was in her life. The Bishop's daughter has a turn for little kids, and has got all the small ones together in the pleached alley, playing at all manner of things.'
'Run back, Lance, to the fun. I shall do very well,' said poor Geraldine.
'I should think so, when I get you so often!' scornfully ejaculated Lancelot, drawing a dilapidated brioche from under the sofa, and squatting on it, with his dancing eyes close to her sad ones.