'What became of the Maid of Lorn?'
'Of course, Lady Caergwent bought it.'
There Rupert Cheviot swooped down. 'Are you any relation of Miss Underwood who painted that capital likeness of Lady Caergwent? Then I congratulate you. But is it not a great pity she does not paint in oils? There is so much more satisfaction in them.'
And no more was possible than walking five abreast, close in the rear of the donkey chair; a desultory, almost mechanical skirmish going on between Ethel and Rupert Cheviot, interspersed with occasional pert remarks from Ella and tart ones from Gertrude.
When presently Rupert began to talk of some lectures which were to be given in May, she made quick answer, 'I shan't be here. I am going abroad with the Riverses.'
This of course started the experienced vacation tourist, an Alpine clubbist, into all kinds of counsels and inquiries, evidently with a view to meeting the party on their route; but though Gertrude took care to assure him that she should be at home long before his free time, the tidings of her intended journey were, as Ethel could hear, in his very footsteps, reducing Lance to the brink of despair.
He had not recovered it when they came home, and was besides in the embarrassed state of a man who had made his purpose only too well known to the spectators; but that quality which had been audacity in his boyish days, enabled him to revive and return free and grateful answers to Dr. May's inquiries into the family plans and welfare.
But when the evening meals in the two houses were over there was nothing to prevent Tom May and his friend from strolling up the garden to the elder house, whence sounds of music were audible.
It was from the 'Messiah,' for Dr. May had asked for 'He was despised and rejected of men,' unwitting that a Sunday evening a year and a quarter ago it had rung on Gertrude's ears in a voice that, in such a passage as this, Lance's reproduced with startling, thrilling exactness.
Gertrude sat in a dark corner, with streaming eyes and heaving sobs. It was almost more than she could bear, till her tears were dried by vexation at hearing a connoisseur kind of compliment, while Dr. May observed, 'I did not know what an instrument it was you thought you were losing when you asked me about it, Lance.'