Cousin Percy did not see the hand, or, if he saw it, did not offer his own.
“Hello,” he said, gruffly. Then, after a quick glance at the quartette in the drawing-room, he pulled forward a chair and, without waiting for an invitation, seated himself.
“How goes it?” inquired Monty.
“All right enough. Oh—er—Gertrude, I've found out about that recital affair. It is next Wednesday afternoon. I have arranged for us to go. Rather difficult business to manage, at such a late date, but I managed to pull it off.”
Gertrude smilingly declared that she was much obliged. “I don't know, of course,” she added, “what Mother's plans for that day may be, but if she is not busy I'm sure we shall be pleased to go. Thank you for thinking of us.”
Mr. Hungerford hesitated. “Well,” he said, “to tell you the truth, I had supposed that Mrs. Dott might be rather busy. It is your committee meeting afternoon, isn't it, Mrs. Dott? and so I arranged for only two. Awfully stupid of me, I know.”
“Oh, that will be all right. You and Mother can go, then. I don't mind at all. Really, I don't. And Mother is so fond of music. It is all right, Mother,” turning to Serena, who had been about to speak, “you can go just as well as not. You must. Never mind the committee meeting; I'll act as your substitute there.”
Cousin Percy was not overcome with joy; at least, he managed to restrain his ecstasy. Mr. Holway volunteered a word.
“Is it the Wainwright Recital you are talking about?” he inquired, eagerly. “That's all right. I can get cards for that. It's a cinch. I'll see that you go, Miss Dott. By George! I'll—I'll go myself. Yes, I will, really. We'll all go.”
This prompt suggestion should have cleared the air. Somehow it did not. Mr. Hungerford merely grunted. Gertrude shook her head.