At last the Squire spoke to the intruder, with a look that might have laid him in the Red Sea.
“In my time young fellows were more alive, and had something to say for themselves. I don’t want your talk myself over my victuals, but you should ’a spoke to her—’tisn’t civil—’tweren’t the way in my day. I don’t think ye asked her ‘How are ye?’ since ye came back. Lunnon manners, maybe.”
“Oh, but I assure you I did. I could not have made such an omission. Alice will tell you I was not quite so stupid,” said Charles, raising his eyes, and looking at her.
“Not that it signifies, mind ye, the crack of a whip, whether ye did or no,” continued the Squire; “but ye may as well remember that ye’re not brother and sister exactly, and ye’ll call her Miss Maybell, and not Alice no longer.”
The Captain stared. The old Squire looked resolutely at the brandy-flask from which he was pouring into his tumbler. Alice Maybell’s eyes were lowered to the edge of her plate, and with the tip of her finger she fiddled with the crumbs on the table-cloth. She did not know what to say, or what might be coming.
So soon as the Squire had quite compounded his brandy-and-water he lifted his surly eyes to his son with a flush on his aged cheek, and wagged his head with oracular grimness, and silence descended again for a time upon the three kinsfolk.
This uncomfortable party, I suppose, were off again, each on their own thoughts, in another minute. But no one said a word for some time.
“By-the-bye, Alice—Miss Maybell, I mean—I saw in London a little picture that would have interested you,” said the Captain, “an enamelled miniature of Marie Antoinette, a pretty little thing, only the size of your watch; you can’t think how spirited and beautiful it was.”
“And why the dickens didn’t ye buy it, and make her a compliment of it? Much good tellin’ her how pretty it was,” said the Squire, sulkily; “’twasn’t for want o’ money. D—— it, in my day a young fellow ’d be ashamed to talk of such a thing without he had it in his pocket to make an offer of;” and the old Squire muttered sardonically to his brandy-and-water, and neither Miss Alice nor Captain Fairfield knew well what to say. The old man seemed bent on extinguishing every little symptom of a lighting up of the gloom which his presence induced.
They came at last into the drawing-room. The Squire took his accustomed place by the fire. In due time came his “night-cap.” Miss Alice played his airs over and over on the piano. The Captain yawned stealthily into his hand at intervals, and at last stole away.