"Et tu, Brute," he murmured pathetically, "My dear creature! You haven't any idea how I loathe being rich. Money doesn't buy what I like--freedom. No! confound it, it is always getting in the way. There!" he added resignedly as he rose, "I told you so. There is that pampered, powdered beast of a footman whom I'm ruining body and soul by my ridiculous claims, coming to tell us lunch is ready. And--and we are enjoying ourselves."
He looked at her as he held out his hand to help her to rise. She gave him hers frankly enough, but drew it away hastily as if something in the touch of his gave her offence, and a quick frown came to her face.
"That has nothing to do with it," she replied austerely, "You have no right to keep your guests waiting."
"If I had your sense of duty, I--I should kill that fellow," he remarked coolly, as the footman, stopping short at a respectful distance among the saxifrages, said in the tone of voice in which a congregation echoes the responses in church.
"If you please, your lordship, luncheon is served."
Aura looked grave for an instant, then she laughed. She was never quite sure whether to take Ned Blackborough aux grands sérieux or not. She admired him, however, when, entering the dining-room, the glitter and clatter of silver, the chatter and laughter of the guests, and the consciousness that every one was looking at her to see who had made their host so late, gave her a desire to run away. He was so easy, so self-possessed, withal so clearly determined not to let any one interfere with his plan, which was apparently to sit beside her.
"I beg your pardon, Helen," he said cheerfully, "Miss Graham and I were in the winter garden. Will you sit here, Miss Graham. Ah! Lady Smith-Biggs, so glad you've come, and how is Sir Joseph? Don't let me disturb you, Ramsay. You fill the place better than I should. Is there room for me by you, Aunt Em? Hullo, where's Hirsch?"
This, as he circled the table brought him to a vacant seat beside Aunt Em; but also next to Aura to whom he said in an undertone, "They'll hand you things you can eat."
The butler's introduction of an elaborate silver dish with the mystic whisper, "Brown bread and butter cutlets," emphasised the remark, and she helped herself decorously with a spoon and fork.
"Mr. Hirsch and Mr. Cruttenden went off smoking somewhere," replied Helen, "Ah! here they come at last."