Crowdie, as the son-in-law of the house, and one of the numerous persons who called Mrs. Bright ‘aunt,’ came forward first, to shake hands and explain the visit.
“I was going to make an apology for coming in without warning, aunt Maggie,” he said. “Griggs dined with us, and we’re going to see the last act of that play with the horses in it—you know—and as it’s too early, we thought we’d ring the bell and call. But as you’ve got a party, I suppose you accept the apology. At least, I hope you will.”
“You’re very welcome, Walter—glad to see you, Mr. Griggs.” Mrs. Bright beamed. “It is a party—isn’t it? Why, there are five men in the room. Let’s all go and see the last act of the play with the horses, and come back to supper! Oh—I forgot—and Katharine, too, with her broken arm. But Mr. Wingfield’s going to it by and by.”
“Yes,” said Wingfield. “I’m going. We’ll walk up together.”
Both Griggs and Crowdie had already heard of Katharine’s accident and were asking her about it, before Mrs. Bright had finished speaking. Presently the new-comers got seats, and the circle widened to admit them as they sat down.
“I’m sure we interrupted some delightful conversation,” said Griggs, breaking the momentary silence. “Won’t you go on?”
“My mother was explaining her views upon secret marriages,” said Bright. “She’d just been comparing love to a truffle.”
“Truffle—cryptogam—secret marriage—love,” said Griggs, gravely. “Very natural sequence of ideas. The interesting link is the secret marriage.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” assented young Wingfield. “What do you think about it, Mr. Griggs?”
“What were you saying about it?” asked the man of letters, cautiously.