Through One Administration

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

"That is very true," he answered.

"Don't go away," she said, "until you have said good-by to her alone."

"Don't you see," he replied, desperately, "that I am in the condition to be unable to go until I am actually forced? Oh," he added, bitterly, "rest assured I shall hang about long enough!" But when he returned to the supper-room, and gave his attention to his usual duties, he was entirely himself again, so far as his outward bearing went. He bore about ices and salads, and endeared himself beyond measure to dowagers, with appetites, who lay in wait. He received their expressions of grief at his approaching departure with decorum not too grave and sufficiently grateful. He made himself as useful and agreeable as usual.

"He is always ready and amiable, that Mr. Arbuthnot," remarked a well-seasoned, elderly matron, who recognized useful material when she saw it.

And Agnes, who had chanced to see him just as his civilities won him this encomium, reflected upon him for a moment with a soft gaze, and then turned away with a secret thought her face did not betray.

At last the rooms began to thin out. One party after another took its departure, disappearing up the stairs and reappearing afterward, descending and passing through the hall to the carriages, which rolled up, one after another, as they were called. Agnes stood near the door-way with Mrs. Merriam, speaking the last words to her guests as they left her. She was still a little pale, but the fatigues of the evening might easily have left her more so. Arbuthnot found himself lingering with an agonizing sense of disgust at his folly. Several times he thought he would go with the rest, and then discovered that the step would cost him a struggle to which he was not equal. Agnes did not look at him; Mrs. Merriam did.

"You must not leave us just yet," she said. "We want your last moments. It would be absurd to bid you good-night as if we were to see you to-morrow. Talk to me until Agnes has done with these people."

He could have embraced her. He was perfectly aware that, mentally, he had lost all his dignity, but he could do nothing more than recognize the fact with unsparing clearness, and gird at himself for his weakness.

"If I were a boy of sixteen," he said inwardly, "I should comport myself in something the same manner. I could grovel at this kind old creature's feet because she has taken a little notice of me."