Then Bobby De Vere comes up, a little later, and addresses me in his usual florid style; so does fat Mr. Hastings; and presently Lady Alicia appears again, bringing with her a tall, gaunt man with a prickly beard, who, she says, is desirous of being introduced.
He is probably a well-intentioned person, but he is very deaf, and has evidently mistaken the whole affair. For example, after a moment or two he electrifies me by saying, "You are fortunate, Mrs. Carrington, in having so magnificent a day for your fete."
I color painfully, stammer a good deal, and finally explain, rather lamely, I am not yet Mrs. Carrington, and that my proper name is Vernon. Upon which he too is covered with confusion and makes a hurried and very unintelligible apology.
"Beg pardon, I'm sure. Quite understood from Lady Alicia—most awkward—inexcusably so. Only arrived at the castle late last night, and am a stranger to every one here. Pray pardon me."
I put an end to his misery by smiling and asking him if he would like to walk about a little—an invitation he accepts with effusion.
There are dear little colored tents scattered all over the place. Bands are playing; so are fountains; and flowers are everywhere. I drink iced Moselle and eat strawberries, and am supremely happy.
My emaciated cavalier escorts me hither and thither, and does all he knows to entertain me. After an hour or so he leaves me, only shortly to return again, and it becomes evident he is bent on studying human nature in a new form as he listens with every appearance of the gravest interest to the ceaseless babble that flows from my lips.
The day wears on, and I see hardly anything of Marmaduke; it is already half-past five, and in another hour my joy must end. I stand at the door of a tent, framed in by blue and white canvas, with a crimson strawberry on its way to my lips, and am vaguely wondering at my lover's absence, when I see him coming towards me, by degrees, and with that guilty air that distinguishes most men when endeavoring secretly to achieve some cherished design. He looks slightly bored, but brightens as his eyes meet mine and hurries his footsteps.
As he draws nearer I address to him some commonplace remark, upon which the two or three men who have been amusing me—my gaunt companion included—sheer off from me as though I had the plague; it being thoroughly understood on all sides that in me they behold the "coming Queen" of Strangemore.
Their defection, however, disconcerts me not at all. I am too glad, too utterly gay on this glorious afternoon to let any trifles annoy me.