Lady Maulevrier was in her accustomed seat, with her own particular little table, magazines, books, newspapers at her side. Lady Mary was pouring out the tea, a most unusual thing; and Maulevrier was sitting on a stool at her feet, with his knees up to his chin, very warm and dusty, eating pound cake.
'Where the mischief have you been hiding yourself all day, Jack?' he called out as Hammond appeared, looking round the room as he entered, with eager, interrogating eyes, for that one figure which was absent.
'I have been for a walk.'
'You might have had the civility to announce your design, and Molly and I would have shared your peregrinations.'
'I am sorry that I lost the privilege of your company.'
'I suppose you lost your luncheon, which was of more importance,' said Maulevrier.
'Will you have some tea?' asked Mary, who looked more womanly than usual in a cream-coloured surah gown—one of her Sunday gowns.
She had a faint hope that by this essentially feminine apparel she might lessen the prejudicial effect of Maulevrier's cruel story about the fox-hunt.
Mr. Hammond answered absently, hardly looking at Mary, and quite unconscious of her pretty gown.
'Thanks, yes,' he said, taking the cup and saucer, and looking at the door by which he momently expected Lady Lesbia's entrance, and then, as the door did not open, he looked down at Mary, very busy with china teapots and a brass kettle which hissed and throbbed over a spirit lamp.