Nina’s watchful eye never left him, and during one of the dignified pauses of his conversation she fixed him with a deceitfully gentle and supplicating stare, and said, distinctly, “Gravesham, please pass me the preserved ginger.”
The young barrister was not the only one whose attention turned in dismay upon her. Sir Hervey opened and shut his mouth like an overheated fish, and as for the Honourable Arthur Gravesham, he settled his glasses more firmly on the bridge of his aristocratic nose, and said, feebly, “I beg your pardon.”
“I said, Gravesham, please pass the preserved ginger,” she repeated, in a distinct voice, and allowing a mild and inquiring gaze to wander around the table as if to ask why all these people had suddenly become interested in her.
Only Lady Forrest was smiling her quiet smile as she watched her. Sir Hervey had become cool enough to gasp, in an explanatory way, “Hem—hem—Mrs. Fordyce, American—not used to our customs.”
Nina immediately addressed him, “Have I said anything wrong, Forrest?”
He grew redder and more inclined to choke and splutter. What a fortunate thing that the servants had left the room. “You forget the handles to our names, that is all. It is ‘Mr. Gravesham’ and ‘Sir Hervey,’ not ‘Gravesham’ and ‘Forrest.’”
“Oh, thank you,” said Nina, with infantine grace. “I heard Mr. Gravesham calling my husband by his last name, and I thought it was the custom here. It is not American, I assure you. We call everybody at home ‘Mr.’—even the butcher. I am sure I apologise to you both. I will not offend again, Mr. Gravesham and Sir Hervey!” and with a slight and most becoming confusion she quietly continued her dinner.
Mr. Gravesham was sulky and would talk no more, and Sir Hervey was discomposed and a little trifle discontented with his usual favourite; but no one else took the occurrence to heart. Lady Forrest was talking amiably and obliviously to her neighbours, and at last Captain Fordyce’s attention was concentrated on the bowed head of his young wife. She had effectually roused him from his abstraction,—the dear little rude, jealous thing. After dinner he would have a settlement with her, and in his old satisfaction he threw his burden of black care from him, and followed her with his eyes as she left the room with the other ladies.
Where was she? He was one of the first men to leave the dining-room, but she was neither in the drawing-room nor in the conservatory. “I think I saw her going into the garden,” murmured Lady Forrest. “You will find a wrap in the hall. You would do well to take it to her.”
Captain Fordyce strolled out into the garden. It was not a large one, and she was certainly not in it. He walked to and fro. Then placing himself in full view of the drawing-room windows so that she could come to him if she chose to do so, he sat down on a seat and with a weary “Heigh ho!” took out a cigar.