Lady Jocelyn’s face wore an angry look, and Mrs. Shorne gave her the shade of a shrug and an expression implying, “I didn’t!”
Evan was talking to Miss Jenny Graine at the moment rather earnestly. With a rapid glance at him, to see that his ears were closed, the Countess breathed:
“Not the elder branch!—Cadet!”
The sort of noisy silence produced by half-a-dozen people respirating deeply and moving in their seats was heard. The Countess watched Mr. Farnley’s mystified look, and whispered to Sir John: “Est-ce qu’il comprenne le Français, lui?”
It was the final feather-like touch to her triumph. She saw safety and a clear escape, and much joyful gain, and the pleasure of relating her sufferings in days to come. This vista was before her when, harsh as an execution bell, telling her that she had vanquished man, but that Providence opposed her, “Mrs. Melchisedec Harrington!” was announced to Lady Jocelyn.
Perfect stillness reigned immediately, as if the pic-nic had heard its doom.
“Oh! I will go to her,” said her ladyship, whose first thought was to spare the family. “Andrew, come and give me your arm.”
But when she rose Mrs. Mel was no more than the length of an arm from her elbow.
In the midst of the horrible anguish she was enduring, the Countess could not help criticizing her mother’s curtsey to Lady Jocelyn. Fine, but a shade too humble. Still it was fine; all might not yet be lost.
“Mama!” she softly exclaimed, and thanked heaven that she had not denied her parent.