“Will you and Miss Trevelyan sit together by me,” he said, speaking to Lady Dorothy, “and the two gentlemen beyond?”
The arrangement seemed a singular one; but the four took their seats, and as Jocelyn slipped in next to Anne, her brother was the only one who found himself beside a stranger.
He glanced at his neighbour, who was a mild-eyed, benevolent old gentleman, whose smooth grey hair was neatly parted and brushed over his ears. He wore a single stud with a large carbuncle set in it, and he had black silk mittens on his bony little hands. He returned Trevelyan’s glance pleasantly, and then went on eating his fish with a faint smile.
Mr. Steele began to talk with Lady Dorothy, and though his voice was not loud, it seemed to dominate the conversation as far as she was concerned, so that she heard no one else.
“May I ask if Mr. and Miss Trevelyan are connected with the Dorsetshire family of that name?” he inquired, after a few preliminary phrases.
“They are the Dorsetshire Trevelyans themselves,” answered Lady Dorothy. “He is the eldest son.”
“Oh, indeed—indeed,” repeated Mr. Steele, thoughtfully. “Thank you,” he added quietly; “it was mere curiosity. Do you go in for any sport besides ballooning? Golf, for instance? We have excellent links here, and we play a good deal.” He spoke louder, and looked down the table. “Mr. Weede over there is one of our crack players.”
At this remark a pale young clergyman in spectacles, who sat at the other end of the table, looked up with a deprecatory smile.
“You will make me vain of my poor accomplishment, if you say such things,” he said humbly. “Remember the Preacher, Mr. Steele: ‘Vanity of vanities, all is not vanity that glitters!’”
Lady Dorothy laughed kindly in an encouraging way, because he seemed so humble. But every one at once began to talk of golf, almost excitedly.