“They’ll all be in agonies before long,” thought Rolph. “I hope poor Glynne won’t be very bad. A bit of an attack would serve her right, though, for going on like that with the star-gazer. Phew! how hot the room is.”
“I give you credit, Jem,” cried the host. “What do you say, Miss Alleyne? It’s of no use to ask these people; they are off on comets or something else.”
“Oh, I’m growing a confirmed fungus-eater, Sir John,” said Lucy. “I am Major Day’s disciple. I think them delicious.”
“You’re a very charming little lassie, and I like you immensely,” thought Sir John, gazing at Lucy curiously and thoughtfully; “but I hope Jem has too much common sense to be making a fool of himself over you. He likes you, I know, but fungus-hunting is one thing and wife-hunting another. No, I won’t think it of you. You wouldn’t lead him on, and he’s too full of sound sense.”
“I shall have to leave the table,” said Rolph to himself. “I never felt so uncomfortable in my life. Ought I to go and get a doctor here? D—n the toadstools! I only meant the major to taste them. Who’d ever have thought that they’d all go in for them. Phew! how hot the room is. Champagne.”
The butler filled up his glass, and Rolph, in his excitement, tossed it off, with the result that the next time Morris went round, he filled the captain’s glass again.
“The thought of it all makes me feel ill,” said Rolph to himself.
“I’ve got a splendid pupil in Miss Alleyne,” said the major, sipping his wine. “I’ve given Glynne up. She can’t tell an agaric from one of the polypori. Mr Alleyne, if you’re trying to teach her star-names, you may give it up as a bad job.”
“Don’t interrupt, uncle,” said Glynne, shaking her finger at him, playfully.
“How pale the poor girl looks,” thought Rolph, who was now in an agony of apprehension. “Phew! this room is warm!” and he gulped down his glass of wine.