“At what an admirable period we have arrived in the world's history!” said Burke. “It is the young miss in these days who insists on her mother's keeping good hours. How wise we are all growing!”
“Mary was always a wise little person,” said Mrs. Horneck.
“Wise? Oh, let us go home!” said the girl wearily.
“Dr. Goldsmith will, I am sure, direct our coach to be called,” said her mother.
Goldsmith bowed and pressed his way to the door, where he told the janitor to call for Mrs. Horneck's coach.
He led Mary out of the rotunda, Burke having gone before with the elder lady. Goldsmith did not fail to notice the look of apprehension on the girl's face as her eyes wandered around the crowd in the porch. He could hear the little sigh of relief that she gave after her scrutiny.
The coach had drawn up at the entrance, and the little party went out into the region of flaring links and pitch-scented smoke. While Goldsmith was in the act of helping Mary Horneck up the steps, he was furtively glancing around, and before she had got into a position for seating herself by the side of her mother, he dropped her hand in so clumsy a way that several of the onlookers laughed. Then he retreated, bowing awkwardly, and, to crown his stupidity, he turned round so rapidly and unexpectedly that he ran violently full-tilt against a gentleman in uniform, who was hurrying to the side of the chariot as if to take leave of the ladies.
The crowd roared as the officer lost his footing for a moment and staggered among the loiterers in the porch, not recovering himself until the vehicle had driven away. Even then Goldsmith, with disordered wig, was barring the way to the coach, profusely apologising for his awkwardness.
“Curse you for a lout!” cried the officer.
Goldsmith put his hat on his head.