“And they call themselves gentlemen!” thought Luke Ross, as he listened gravely to all that was said, and tried to keep from feeling annoyed at the free and easy way of the two brothers, who seemed to have put on their Australian manners for the occasion, and refused to believe in Mrs Portlock being troubled and her nieces annoyed.
They had the greater part of the conversation, and thoroughly spoiled the evening, so that it was with a feeling of relief that Luke heard Cyril Mallow say—
“Well, come along; we must get back. Past twelve; and the governor likes early hours in the country.”
“Let him,” said Frank Mallow, lighting his fourth cigar.
“But the mater said she should wait up to see you before she went to bed,” said Cyril.
“Poor old girl! then I suppose we must go,” said Frank, rising. “Ladies, I kiss your hands, as we say in the east. Good-night!”
He shook hands all round, holding Rue Berry’s hand very tightly for a moment, at the same time that her brother had Sage’s little trembling fingers in his clasp.
“Good-night, gentlemen; you don’t go our way.”
The next minute Mrs Portlock uttered a sigh of relief, for the dogs were barking at the visitors whom Churchwarden Portlock was seeing to the gate.
“There’s a something I like about that young fellow,” said John Berry, breaking the silence, as the sisters stood hand clasped in hand, with Mrs Portlock looking at them in a troubled way. “I’ve heard a good deal of evil spoke of him, but a young fellow who is fond of his mother can’t be so very bad. Good-night, doctor; good-night, Mr Ross; good-night, Luke Ross. I’ll walk with you to the gate.”