“Do you remember that this is the afternoon of the garden party at Revelsmere?” Mrs. de Tracy enquired, coming into the drawing room a few minutes later, where Mrs. Loring stood by the open window. She 195 had allowed herself just five minutes of depression, staring out at the buttercup meadow. How black the rooks looked as they flew about it and how dreary everything was, now that Lavendar had gone! She was woman enough to be able to feel inwardly amused at her own absurdity, when she recognized that the ensuing three days seemed to stretch out into a limitless expanse of dullness. “The village seemed asleep or dead now Lubin was away!” Still, after all, it was an occasion for wearing a pretty frock, and she knew herself well enough to feel sure that the sight of a few of her fellow-creatures even pretending to enjoy themselves, would make her volatile spirits rise like the mercury in a thermometer on a hot day.
Miss Smeardon was to be her companion, as Mrs. de Tracy had a headache that afternoon and was afraid of the heat, she said. “What heat?” Robinette had asked innocently, for in spite of the brilliant sunlight the wind blew from the east, keen as a knife. 196 “I shall take a good wrap in the carriage in spite of this tropical temperature,” she thought. Carnaby refused point blank to drive with them; he would bicycle to the party or else not go at all, so it was alone with Miss Smeardon that Robinette started in the heavy old landau behind the palsied horse.
Miss Smeardon gave one glance at Mrs. Loring’s dress, and Robinette gave one glance at Miss Smeardon’s, each making her own comments.
“That white cloth will go to the cleaner, I suppose, after one wearing, and as for that thing on her head with lilac wistaria drooping over the brim, it can’t be meant as a covering, or a protection, either from sun or wind; it’s nothing but an ornament!” Miss Smeardon commented; while to herself Robinette ejaculated,––
“A penwiper, an old, much-used penwiper, is all that Miss Smeardon resembles in that black rag!”
Carnaby, watching the start at the door, 197 whistled in open admiration as Robinette came down the steps.
“Well, well! we are got up to kill this afternoon; pity old Mark has just gone; but cheer up, Cousin Robin, there’s always a curate on hand!”
For once Robinette’s ready tongue played her false, and a sense of loneliness overcame her at the sound of Lavendar’s name. She gathered up her long white skirts and got into the carriage with as much dignity as she could muster, while Carnaby, his eyes twinkling with mischief, stood ready to shut the door after Miss Smeardon.
“Hope you’ll enjoy your drive,” he jeered. “You’ll need to hold on your hats. Bucephalus goes at such fiery speed that they’ll be torn off your heads unless you do.”
“Middy dear, you’re not the least amusing,” said Robinette quite crossly, and with a lurch the carriage moved off.