Marjolaine came close to her mother. "Oh, let me laugh, Maman!" She proceeded in a whisper, "They are so droll! Sir Peter is afraid of Mrs. Poskett; Mrs. Poskett is almost in tears; Mr. Basil is gloomy; Ruth is in a bad temper; and Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn has n't got over Saturday's banquet."
"But you, Marjolaine—!" exclaimed Madame with quiet reproof.
"You told me to fight it, Maman," said Marjolaine, with a shy laugh. Then she ran across to Basil, who was watching the door through which Barbara might still come. He was wondering what demon had persuaded him to accept this invitation, which had brought him out of doors, when he might have stayed indoors where he would at least have been under the same roof as Barbara.
The Admiral had bravely recovered from his rebuff. He came up to Brooke-Hoskyn. "Well, Brooke, my boy! Did n't see you in church yesterday. Too much turtle on Saturday—what?" and down came the flat of his hand with a round thwack on Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's broad back.
To be accused of having overeaten yourself when you are suffering from a bad headache is extremely annoying; to be slapped on the back when you are swallowing hot tea is infuriating. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn turned on Sir Peter. "Nothing of the sort, sir!—I deprecate these unseemly familiarities. I was detained from divine service because I chose to sit at home and hold my dear Selina's hand!" And he turned his back on Sir Peter.
"Um," said the latter. His playful banter was certainly not being well received.
Mrs. Poskett looked up at Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn with melancholy eyes. "How is your wife?" she said, "that dear, innocent lamb."
"Gambolling, Ma'am," he answered, airily. "Figuratively speaking, Selina is gambolling."
"How wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Poskett, sympathetically.
Basil Pringle felt that something drastic must be done if they were to live through the evening. He addressed Marjolaine. "Miss Marjory, won't you cheer us with a song?"