Erica, with a vain hope of making Mr. Fane-Smith behave at least civilly, came forward and shook hands with him.
“I don't think you have met my father before,” she said.
Raeburn had come a few steps forward; Mr. Fane-Smith inclined his about a quarter of an inch; Raeburn bowed, then said to Erica:
“Perhaps Mr. Fane-Smith would prefer waiting in my study.”
“Thanks, I will wait where I am,” said Mr. Fane-Smith, pointedly, ignoring the master of the house and addressing Erica. “Thank you,” as she offered him a chair, “I prefer to stand. Have the goodness to see that Rose is quick.”
“Thinks the chair's atheistical!” remarked Tom to himself.
Raeburn, looking a degree more stately than usual, stood on the hearth rug with his back to the fire, not in the least forgiving his enemy, but merely adopting for himself the most dignified role. Mr. Fane-Smith a few paces off with his anger and ill-concealed contempt did not show to advantage. Something in the relative sizes of the two struck the professor as comically like Landseer's “Dignity and Impudence.” He would have smiled at the thought had he not been very angry at the discourteous treatment his friend was receiving. Mrs. MacNaughton sat with her queen in her hand as though meditating her next move, but in reality absorbed in watching the game played by the living chess-men before her. Tom at last broke the uncomfortable silence by asking the professor about some of Erica's specimens, and at length Rose came down, much to every one's relief, followed by Erica, who had been helping her to collect the things.
“Are you ready?” said her father. “Then come at once.”
“Let me at least say goodbye, papa,” said Rose, very angry at being forced to make this undignified and, as she rightly felt, rude exit.
“Come at once,” said Mr. Fane-Smith in an inexorable voice. As he left the room he turned and bowed stiffly.