Varunas made no less than three trips from the mansion to the hall that evening. His first passengers were Esther and Seymour Covell, who, being performers, were obliged to be on hand early for dress and make-up. The next occupants of the rear seat were Foster Townsend and Captain and Mrs. Benjamin Snow. The Snow carryall was in the paintshop and Townsend had invited them to ride with him. Nabby and the maid were the third load. It was not until the Giffords were in their seats at the hall that Varunas found opportunity to ask the question which was in his mind.
“Nabby,” he whispered, “is anything the matter between Seymour and Esther? Have they had a fallin’ out or anything?”
His wife turned to look at him. “What makes you ask that?” she whispered, in return.
“The way they acted all the time I was drivin’ ’em down here to-night. Never hardly spoke a word to each other, they didn’t. That is, she never. He set out to once or twice, but she scarcely so much as answered him. Anything happened that you know of?”
She shook her head. “They was that way all through supper,” she said. “Cap’n Foster noticed it, too. The hired girl said she suspicioned somethin’ was up, so I made an excuse and went into the dinin’ room myself. They was mum as a deef and dumb asylum when I was there and I see the cap’n watchin’ ’em and pullin’ his whiskers the way he does when he’s bothered. I couldn’t make it out. They were sociable as could be at dinner time and I heard ’em singin’ their songs and laughin’ in the parlor afterwards. Whatever happened must have been after that, that’s sure.”
Varunas nodded. “Oh, well,” he observed philosophically, “probably ’tain’t nothin’ much. They’ll get over it. Young fellows and girls are always squabblin’ when they’re keepin’ company. Huh,” with a chuckle, “I remember one time when I was sparkin’ around with—” He paused and changed the subject. “There’s Cornelius Gott, struttin’ in,” he said. “Goin’ to lead the music, they tell me. Got his funeral clothes on, of course. He gives me the creeps, that feller does. When I think of all the folks he’s helped lay out—Godfreys!”
Mrs. Gifford ignored the talented Cornelius.
“Why didn’t you finish what you was sayin’ first along?” she demanded, tartly. “Who was this one you used to spark around with? I don’t recollect ever hearin’ about her afore.”
Her husband shifted on the settee. “Oh, nobody, I guess,” he muttered. “I was just talkin’.”
“Humph! I guess ’twas a nobody, too. Nobody that was anybody would have done much sparkin’ with you.”