It was of course the pastor who ought to have been introduced to me on such neutral ground as an impromptu ball-room, but Edelgard had, as the caravan tour lengthened, acquired the habit of using the presence of a third person in order to do as she chose, with no reference whatever to my known wishes. This is a habit specially annoying to a man of my disposition, peppery perhaps, but essentially bon enfant, who likes to get his cautions and reprimands over and done with and forgotten, rather than be forced to allow them to accumulate and brood over them indefinitely.
Rendered helpless by my own good breeding—a quality which leads to many a discomfort in life—I was accordingly introduced for all the world as though I were the inferior, and could only show my sensibility of the fact by a conspicuous stiffening.
“Otto thinks it is so very kind of you to let us come in,” said Edelgard, all smiles and with an augmentation of officiousness and defiance of me that was incredible.
“I am glad you were able to,” replied the pastor looking at me, politeness in his voice and chill in his eye. It was plain the creature was still angry because, in church, I would not pray.
“You are very good,” said I, bowing with at least an equal chill.
“Otto wishes,” continued the shameless Edelgard, reckless of the private hours with me ahead, “to be introduced to your—to Mrs.—Mrs.——”
“Raggett,” supplied the pastor.
And I would certainly have been dragged up then and there to the round red ghost at the top of the room while Edelgard, no doubt, triumphed in the background, if it had not itself come to the rescue by striking up another tune on its fiddle.
“Presently,” said the pastor, now become crystallized for me into Raggett. “Presently. Then with pleasure.”
And his glassy eye, fixed on mine, had little of pleasure in it.