That gentleman looked about coolly. He was in search of Miss Arden, but he did not see her. He entered the hall again, and Richard Arden a little awkwardly resumed his conversation, which had suddenly subsided into silence on Longcluse's appearance.
By this time Lady May was more at ease, having received all her company that were reasonably punctual, and in the hall Longcluse now encountered her.
“Have you seen Mr. Arden?” she inquired of him.
“Yes, he's at the door, at the steps.”
“Would you mind telling him kindly that I want to say a word to him?”
“Certainly, most happy,” said Longcluse, without any distinct plan as to how he was to execute her awkward commission.
“Thank you very much. But, oh! dear, here is Lady Hummington, and she wishes so much to know you; I'll send some one else. I must introduce you, come with me—Lady Hummington, I want to introduce my friend, Mr. Longcluse.” So Mr. Longcluse was presented to Lady Hummington, who was very lean, and a “blue,” and most fatiguingly well up in archæology, and all new books on dry and difficult subjects. So that Mr. Longcluse felt that he was, in Joe Willett's phrase, “tackled” by a giant, and was driven to hideous exertions of attention and memory to hold his own. When Lady Hummington, to whom it was plain kind Lady May, with an unconscious cruelty, had been describing Mr. Longcluse's accomplishments and acquirements, had taken some tea and other refection, and when Mr. Longcluse's kindness “had her wants supplied,” and she, like Scott's “old man” in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” “was gratified,” she proposed visiting the music-room, where she had heard a clever organist play, on a harmonium, three distinct tunes at the same time, which being composed on certain principles, that she explained with much animation and precision, harmonised very prettily.
So this clever woman directed, and Mr. Longcluse led, the way to the music-room.
