“Never!”
“I almost hope you have a temper—oh, you have, you have, with those eyes!” He chuckled. “Turn it loose on her! Give it to her! Gad! but I’d like to see her well trounced! She doesn’t mind me, but you’re a woman, and young, and beautiful, and—nearly twice her height. Gad! how she’ll hate you! But trounce her—trounce her! Don’t give her any quarter!”
Cecil laughed, “Why do you sow these seeds of discord in the family?”
“Oh, we’ll keep out of the way. But fancy Emmy limp and worn out, and not daring to call her soul her own! ’Twould be the happiest day of my life! But I’m famished.”
They entered the library only a moment before dinner was announced. It was a very long room breaking the series of corridors, and only three times their width. Its panelling was black, and its books appeared to be musty with age; above the high cases were many Maundrells; even the furniture looked as ancient as the Abbey. But flooding all was a pink glare of electric light.
The room was full of people, who regarded the bride with descriptive curiosity. Lady Barnstaple was flitting about, her expression in perfect order, her superlatively smart French gown quivering with animation. She came at once toward Lee, followed by a tall good-looking young man, whom she presented as Captain Monmouth.
“What a love of a gown! I’m so glad you know how to dress!” she exclaimed. “You are to go in with Miss Pix,” she added to her stepson.
Cecil drew his brows together. “Why do you send me in with Miss Pix?” he muttered angrily. “You know she bores me to death.”
“To punish you for not marrying her. You can’t get out of it; she expects you.”
Lee overheard the conversation. So did Lord Barnstaple, who was laughing softly at his son’s discomfiture. She had no time to question him, for they went down at once to dinner, and his attention for a time was claimed by the woman on his left. Cecil was on the other side of the table, some eight or ten seats down. Lee studied his partner attentively while talking with Captain Monmouth, who sat on her right.