Jim had seated himself opposite Dora, and in the middle of this their eyes met for a moment. A faint smile quivered on the corner of Jim’s mouth, but the moment after Mrs. Per came to the end of a song and he warmly complimented her. Eventually she left the piano and called upon Claude for the fulfilment of his promise.
Claude on occasion recited; he did so now. The piece he chose was a favourite of his father’s, a little hackneyed, perhaps, for it was “The Sands of Dee,” and Lord Osborne blew his nose when it was finished.
“Thank ye, my boy,” he said. “You said that beautiful. Just to think of it, poor thing, her caught by the tide like that, and her hair getting into the salmon nets. I’m glad we didn’t have that before dinner. I couldn’t have eaten a morsel of that salmon.”
“My dear, you’re so fanciful,” said his wife, “and it was sea trout. But Claude said it beautiful. I’m sure I’ve heard them at the music halls, often and often, not half so good as that, for all that they are professionals.”
“So that if your uncle cuts you off with a shilling, Claude,” said his father, “you can still make a home for Dora; hey, Dora?”
And then Per did several very remarkable conjuring tricks, which nobody could guess. You put a watch into a handkerchief and held it quite tight, and then there wasn’t any, or else it was a rabbit, or something quite different. Again, whatever card you chose, and wherever you put it back into the pack, Per was on it in no time. Or you thought of something, and Per blindfold, with the help of Mrs. Per, told you what you had thought of. And the Zanzics were held not to be in it.
After the strain and bewilderment of these accomplishments it was almost a relief to sit down to a good round game, the basis of which was a pack of cards, some counters, a system of forfeits, and plenty of chaff.
And about twelve, after a little light supper, the party broke up, Alf driving down to Richmond, and Lady Austell, who had made up her little disagreement with Jim, dropping him at his rooms. It was but a step from Park Lane there, but they held a short and pointed conversation on their way.
“A delightful, charming evening,” she said; “all so genuine and honest, with no forced gaiety or insincere welcome. How happy and content Dora ought to be.”
“The question being whether she is,” remarked Jim.