The very next day she went to call upon Mrs. Errol. When she returned, she said to her brother:
“Molyneux, she is the loveliest little woman I ever saw! She has a voice like a silver bell, and you may thank her for making the boy what he is. She has given him more than her beauty, and you make a great mistake in not persuading her to come and take charge of you. I shall invite her to Lorridaile.”
“She’ll not leave the boy,” replied the Earl.
“I must have the boy too,” said Lady Lorridaile, laughing.
But she knew Fauntleroy would not be given up to her, and each day she saw more clearly [how closely those two had grown to each other,] and how all the proud, grim old man’s ambition and hope and love centred themselves in the child, and how the warm, innocent nature returned his affection with most perfect trust and good faith.
She knew, too, that the prime reason for the great dinner party was the Earl’s secret desire to show the world his grandson and heir. Perhaps there was not one person who accepted the invitation without feeling some curiosity about little Lord Fauntleroy, and wondering if he would be on view.
And when the time came he was on view.
“The lad has good manners,” said the Earl. “He will be in no one’s way. He can actually answer when he’s spoken to, and be silent when he is not.”
But he was not allowed to be silent very long. Every one had something to say to him. The fact was they wished to make him talk. The ladies petted him and asked him questions, and the men asked him questions too, and joked with him, as the men on the steamer had done when he crossed the Atlantic.
But though he was talked to so much, as the Earl had said, he was in no one’s way. He could be quiet and listen when others talked, and so no one found him tiresome.