The City section were pleased at this concession, and took the remarks as complimentary. Mr. Schröder smiled, and said sententiously: "Business has its cares as well as its pleasures." Mr. Townshend nodded his head, saying, "You gentlemen despise our prosaic ways and business routine; with you--"
"Business routine!" exclaimed Beresford. "Why, you make a fortune by the arrival of a telegram, by the nod of a cabinet-minister's head. I'm not so ignorant of these mercantile matters as you may fancy. When I was in the habit of staying with my intimate friend Pigott, of the firm of Pigott and Wells--"
"What name did you say?" asked Mr. Townshend, with a blanched face.
"Pigott and Wells," repeated Beresford slowly, looking at him stedfastly; "merchants of Combcardingham. Do you know the firm?"
"No, not at all. That is--I--" and Mr. Townshend's teeth chattered as he gulped down a bumper of port and cowered in his chair, as a tremendous knock, reverberating through the house, announced the arrival of the first guests for the reception.
The reception. Item, Herr Klavierspieler, the celebrated pianiste, who was so fall of soul, and so mysterious, and so thin, and so long-haired, and so silent. All sorts of stories afloat about Herr Klavierspieler,--that he communed with spirits; that he was a ghoule; that he was consuming away under an unrequited passion for an Austrian countess of excessive haughtiness; whereas in real truth he was the son of a saddler in the Breite Strasse of Dresden, and his liver was deranged, perhaps by his eating five heavy meals a day, and, save when he was playing in public, never being without a pipe in his mouth. Item, M. Bloffski, the Pole, the violincellist of the world, a fat man in spectacles, who perspired a great deal, breathed through his nose, had a red-cotton pocket-handkerchief, and played his instrument divinely. Item, Mr. Schrink, musical critic of the Statesman newspaper, a little man with a hump-back and a frightfully sensitive ear; a little man who would cower and, shrink under false notes, and stamp and growl under bad singing; a little man whom every one hated, and who did not particularly like himself. Item, Fräulein Wünster, one of those German young ladies who, ever since Jenny Lind's success, have been imported into England under the firm idea that they were "going to do it," and who, having filled up gaps in the Hanover Square and St. James's Hall concerts, have returned to Vaterland without having made the smallest mark. Mr. Dabb, fashionable artist, whose portrait of Mr. Schröder decorated the walls, was there; as was Mr. Fleem, the author of Fashion and Satire--a young gentleman who, for a cynic, seemed on remarkably good terms with himself and his fellow-creatures. Mr. Pringle and Mr. Prescott arrived together; and just after the gentlemen came up from the dining-room, Mr. and Mrs. Churchill were announced.
If Mrs. Churchill had been the Empress of Austria or the Queen of the Cannibal Islands, she could not have entered the room more haughtily, or created a greater effect. She was dressed in a plain dark-gray silk, with a bunch of scarlet geraniums in her hair, and a black-lace shawl over her shoulders. Her little head was erect, her delicate nostrils distended, and her eye seemed to challenge any unpleasant remark. Frank Churchill was, as usual, quiet and sedate; but it was evident he marked the impression which his wife made, and was pleased thereby. Was he pleased with the expression of her face, as he marked it contracted for an instant, though immediately afterwards the features resumed their calm statuesque immobility? Was he pleased with the tone of her voice, which became a little hard and metallic, instead of that soft whispering which he knew as hers? Barbara's trial was on her at that instant: she had returned to that society in which she had all her life lived; those luxuries, which had been in daily use, were around her, after she had been for weeks absent from them; the mere size of the rooms, the lighting, the perfume, the presence of guests,--all seemed to render the events of the past months as a dream; and she had to bring her presence of mind into play to argue with herself.
Mrs. Schröder rushed up to her at once; no doubt of the empressement of her manner! affection a little too palpable, as Barbara thought.
"Oh, Barbara darling! so glad you're come! I thought you'd disappointed us. How late you are!"
"Frank was detained; as I expected, Alice; make him explain himself."