Mrs. Chichester gives way to wild, if suppressed, mirth.
"Heavens! Fancy being jealous of one's own wife!" says she. "Now, if it had been anyone else's——"
"Yes, there would be reason in that!" says Captain Marryatt, so gloomily that her mirth breaks forth afresh.
He is always a joy to her, this absurd young man, who, in spite of barbs and shafts, follows at her chariot wheels with a determination worthy of a better cause.
Gower, who also had heard that quiet "No," had come instantly forward, and entreated Tita to blindfold him. And once more the fun is at its height. Hescott, as compared with Randal Gower, is not even in it in this game. The latter simulates the swallow, and even outdoes that wily bird in his swift dartings to and fro. Great is his surprise, and greater still his courage—this last is acknowledged by all—when, on a final swoop round the room with arms extended, he suddenly closes them round the bony form of Miss Gower, who had returned five minutes ago, and who, silent and solitary, is standing in a distant corner breathing anathemas upon the game.
Everyone stops dead short—everyone looks at the ceiling; surely it must fall! There had been a general, if unvoiced, opinion up to this that Mr. Gower could see; but now he is at once exonerated, and may leave the dock at any moment without a stain upon his character.
"Come away! come away!" whisper two or three behind his back.
Mrs. Chichester pulls frantically at his coat-tails; but Mr. Gower holds on. He passes his hand over Miss Gower's gray head.
"It is—it is—it must be!" cries he, in a positive tone.
"It"—here his hand flies swiftly down her warlike nose—"it is
Colonel Neilson!" declares he, with a shout of triumph.
"Unhand me, sir!" cries Miss Gower.