“Oh, that Sir George Brandram. Don’t know much about him, he’s a Wosham man.”
His tone was so cold, and his manner intimated such strong disapproval, that Chris did not like to ask more about Sir George, fearing that he might be the hero of some terrible scandal. It was only later that she learnt that the sting of Mr. Cullingworth’s account of him lay in the words, “He’s a Wosham man.” For Wosham, four miles off along the coast, was the deadly rival of Wyngham; and it was a point of honour among their respective inhabitants to acknowledge no good in the dwellers of the rival town.
Meanwhile, the giver of the ball was enjoying himself very little better than the young lady in whose honour it was given. Mr. Bradfield loved to see his house full of guests, having to the full the pleasure of the self-made man in ostentatious hospitality. He took a cynical delight in the knowledge that these people who were civil to him for what he had, and not for what he was, considered themselves his superiors, and would have disdained to shake hands with him while he was still a poor man.
But to-night his enjoyment of his new position was spoilt for him by a chance word, uttered in all good faith by Lilith Shute, who was ashamed of her mother’s behaviour towards Chris, with whom she had struck up a friendship, which would have been a warm one if she could have had her will.
Lilith was dancing the Lancers with her host, whose constant glances in the direction of Chris Abercarne she could not fail to notice.
“How nice she looks to-night,” said Lilith, who looked pretty enough herself to afford a word of praise to a rival beauty, and who did not believe in her friend’s supposed designs upon the rich cousin’s heart.
“She always does look nice,” said Mr. Bradfield, gruffly. “And she knows it, too—a little too well, I expect, like all you girls who think yourself beauties.”
He was jealous, entirely without reason, of the men younger than himself, with one or other of whom she was dancing or talking whenever he glanced in her direction.
“I don’t see how a girl is to help knowing it, when it makes such a difference in the amount of attention she gets,” giggled Lilith. “Not,” she went on laughingly, “that the attention of anyone here would be likely to turn her head.” Then a malicious thought crossed her mind, taking the place of her magnanimity. “Chris Abercarne’s thoughts are too much occupied with somebody else for her to derive much entertainment from her partners,” she said, demurely.
Mr. Bradfield looked at her scrutinisingly; he dared to hope that Lilith was going to say something encouraging to himself.