In one way this accident was fortunate, for it lessened the awkwardness of their meeting. Henry apologised and she laughed; and presently they were seated side by side at table, discussing the eccentricities of invalid chairs with somewhat unnecessary persistence and fervour.
After this the lunch went off well enough. It was not an altogether cheerful meal, indeed; but then nothing at Rosham was ever quite cheerful, and probably nothing had been for generations. The atmosphere of the place, like its architecture, was oppressive, even lugubrious, and the circumstances in which the present company were assembled did not tend towards unrestrained gaiety. Ellen talked energetically of matters connected with dress, in which Emma did not seem to take any vivid interest; Lady Graves threw in an occasional remark about the drought and the prevalence of blight upon the roses; while Henry for the most part preserved a discreet, or rather an embarrassed, silence; and Mr. Levinger discoursed sweetly upon the remote and impersonal subject of British coins, of a whole potful of which it appeared that he had recently become the proud possessor.
“Sir Henry has promised to come and see them, my dear,” he said to Emma pointedly, after he had at length succeeded in stirring his audience into a flabby and intermittent interest in the crown that Caractacus wore, or was supposed to wear, upon a certain piece of money.
“Indeed,” she answered quickly, bending her head as though to examine the pattern of her plate.
“Your father has been so kind as to ask me for the second time, Miss Levinger,” Henry remarked uneasily, “and I propose to avail myself of his invitation so soon as I am well enough not to be a nuisance that is, if it is convenient.”
“Of course it will always be convenient to see you, Sir Henry Graves,” Emma replied coldly, “or indeed anybody whom my father likes to ask.”
“That’s one for Henry,” reflected Ellen. “Serves him right too.” Then she added aloud: “A few days at Monk’s Lodge will be a very nice change for you, dear, and I hope that you may arrive safely this time. Would you like to take a walk round the garden, Emma, while your father smokes a cigarette?”
Emma rose gladly, for she felt the moral atmosphere of the dining-room to be in a somewhat volcanic state, and was terribly afraid lest a few more sparks of Ellen’s sarcastic wit should produce an explosion. For half an hour or so they sauntered through the old-fashioned shrubberies and pleasure grounds, the charms of which their overrun and neglected condition seemed to enhance, at least at this season of the year. Then it was that Ellen confided to her companion that she expected to be married about the middle of November, and that she hoped that Emma would come to town with her some time in October to assist her in completing her trousseau. Emma hesitated for a moment, for she could not disguise from herself the fact that her friendship for Ellen, at no time a very deep one, had cooled; indeed, she was not sure whether she quite trusted her. In the end, however, she assented, subject to her father’s consent, for she had very rarely been in London, and she felt that a change of scene and ideas would do her good. Then they turned back to the house, to find that the dog-cart was standing at the door.
“One word, my dear,” said Ellen, halting: “I am so glad that Henry is going to stop at Monk’s Lodge. He is a most curious creature, and I hope that you will be patient with him, and forgive him all his oddities.”
“Really, Ellen,” answered Emma, with suppressed irritation, “I have nothing to forgive Sir Henry, and of course I shall be glad to see him whenever he chooses to come.”