Penelope glanced sharply at Francis, and then said—how did she manage to say it so carelessly and composedly!—.
“Oh yes, we have known Mr. Charteris for a good many years. Can you find room for your cousin on the sofa, Francis?”
At the “Francis,” Captain Treherne stared, and made some remarks in an abstract and abstracted manner. At length, when he had placed himself right between Francis and Penelope, and was actually going to take Penelope down to dinner, a light seemed to break upon him. He laughed—gave way to his cousin—and condescended to bestow his scarlet elbow upon me; saying as we went across the hall:—
“I'm afraid I was near making a blunder there.—But who would have thought it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“About those, there. I knew your sister was engaged to somebody—but Charteris! Who would have thought of Charteris going to be married. What a ridiculous idea.”
I said, that the fact had ceased to appear so to me, having been aware of it for the last ten years.
“Ten years! You don't say so!” And then his slow perception catching the extreme incivility of this great astonishment—my scarlet friend offered lame congratulations, fell to his dinner, and conversed no more.
Perhaps he forgot the matter altogether—for Lisabel sat opposite, beside Colin Granton; and what between love and hate my cavalier's attention was very much distracted. Truly, Lisabel and her unfortunate swains reminded me of a passage in “Thomson's Seasons,” describing two young bulls fighting in a meadow:—
“While the fair heifer balmy-breathing near,