Pauline was afraid his feelings would be hurt and declared with such transparent dishonesty how greatly she loved everything in the room that Guy, grateful though he was to her intended sweetness, was more discouraged than ever. Monica objected to his having Our Lady on the mantelshelf, and would not admit her as Saint Rose of Lima; but Guy was enough in awe of Monica not to justify the identification with Saint Rose by his desire for a poetic apostrophe. As for Mrs. Grey, she behaved as she always did when Monica and Margaret were being critical, that is by firing off 'charmings!' in a sort of benevolent musketry; but if Guy was not convinced by her 'charmings!' he could not resist her when she said:
"I think Guy's room is charming ... charming!"
He felt his room could be an absolute failure if from the ashes of its reputation he were alluded to actually for the first time as 'Guy.' Gone then was Mr. Hazlewood: fled were those odious 'misses.' He turned to Pauline and said momentously, boldly:
"I say, Pauline, you haven't seen my new kitten."
She blushed, and Guy stood breathless with the attainment of the first peak. Then triumphantly he turned to Mrs. Grey:
"Monica and Margaret are very severe, aren't they?"
How easy it was after all, and he wished he had addressed them directly by their Christian names instead of taking refuge in a timid reference. Now all that was wanting for his pleasure was that Monica, Margaret or Pauline should call him Guy. He wondered which would be the first. And vaguely he asked himself which he wanted to be the first.
Pauline was talking to Margaret in the bay-window.
"Do you remember," she was saying, "when Richard came to look at Plashers Mead and we pretended he was going to take it?"
Margaret frowned at her for answer; but for Guy the afternoon so lately perfected was spoilt again; and when they were gone, all the evening he glowered at phantom Richards who, whether Adonises or Calibans, were all equally obnoxious and more than obnoxious, positively minatory. Next day he felt he had no heart to make an excuse to visit the Rectory; and he was drearily eating some of the cakes of the tea-party, when Mr. Brydone and Mr. Willsher paid him their first call. Guy did not think they would appreciate the empty rooms, however eloquently he narrated their future glories; so he led his visitors forthwith to the cakes, listening to the talk of trout and jack. After a while he asked with an elaborate indifference if either of them had lately been round to the Rectory.