“The little wife looks ill, Pugh,” said Mr Parkley, as they went in to dinner. “You ask Mr Meldon his opinion about her by-and-by. Our coming worries her.”
“I’ll ask her if she’s poorly or worried,” said Dutch smiling. “Hester!”
She came up to him looking pale and startled, but he did not notice it.
“Mr Parkley thinks you wish all the visitors anywhere,” said Dutch playfully.
“He does not,” said Hester, placing her hand on Mr Parkley’s arm. “He knows he is always so very welcome here.”
She went in with him to dinner, and evidently exerted herself greatly to chase away the cloud that shadowed her, devoting herself to her guests, but in spite of her efforts her eyes were more than once directed partially to where Lauré was chatting volubly with Bessy Studwick, and, meeting his, remained for a few moments as if fascinated or fixed by his gaze.
Later on in the evening, when they were all in the drawing-room, Hester seemed quite excited, and full of forced gaiety, while Lauré was brimming with anecdote, chatting more volubly than ever. Before long he was asked to sing, and Hester sat down to the piano.
While he was singing in a low, passionate voice some Spanish love song, and those near were listening as if enthralled, Dutch felt his arm touched, and John Studwick motioned him to follow into the back drawing-room, and then, seeing it was impossible to speak there, Dutch led the way into the little dining-room, where, with the rich tones of the Cuban’s voice penetrating to where they stood, the invalid, who seemed greatly excited, caught his host by the arm.
“Dutch Pugh,” he said, “I like you because you’re so frank and manly, and that’s why I speak. I shan’t go out with this expedition if that half Spanish fellow is going too. I hate him. Look how he has been pestering Bessy all the evening. I don’t like it. Why did you ask him here?”
“My dear fellow,” exclaimed Dutch, “be reasonable. You expressed a wish to meet him.”