“But why want to keep it secret as if it were something dark and plotting?” insisted Harriet Blair. “Why not come right out and admit your willingness if your party wants you?”
The men laughed in varying degrees of delight at this feminine perspicacity. The Major regarded her with somewhat comical humour, looking a little shamefaced, though he was laughing too. “For the fear my party can’t afford to have me,” he answered. “It takes money. They are casting about for a richer available man first, and, that failing, why—”
Here Austen Blair came in, bringing a breath of the November chill. Or was it his own personality that brought the chill, Alexina wondered. For, to do him justice, there was a distinction, a fine coldness, a bearing about him which distinguished him in any company.
Promptly on his coming the group broke up. The others passed into the hall to hunt overcoats, but the Major paused to address Harriet, who had risen and was looking at him as he spoke. There was colour in her face, and light.
“Friday evening, then,” he was saying, “you will go with me to hear Benton lecture?”
Austen, who had taken a cup of coffee from Alexina, looked up sharply. He put the cup down.
Harriet smiled acquiescence. “Friday evening,” she agreed.
Later, in the hall, as the outer door shut behind the group of departing men, Austen turned on his sister, his nostrils tense with dilation.
“Do you realize what you are doing?” he asked. “Have you utterly lost sight of how this man was regarded by your father, if you prefer to put consideration for me out of the matter?”
Harriet continued to unfasten her long glove. The colour was gone from her face, and the light, but otherwise she stood outwardly serene.