Mr. Cole, looking lackadaisically at the ceiling, began again. When he reached the last line, again an uproarious chorus took the words out of his mouth. He rose, and steadying himself on his feet, implored silence in pantomime. In vain. Ahlberg and Hibbs with shouts and yells of laughter carried the chorus through. Pembroke could not but laugh, but he said to the little clergyman, in a tone subdued but authoritative:
“Sit down, Cole.”
Mr. Cole glanced fiercely at him. “Were it not for my cloth, sir, you—you’d—receive personal chastisement for that remark,” he responded angrily; but comparing his own slender figure with Pembroke’s length and strength, he plaintively continued:
“But I’m afraid you could lick me, Pembroke. You always did at school, you know.”
Pembroke made no reply. He was no anchorite. He had sometimes found amusement in low company in low places—but low company in better places disgusted him. Besides, Cole was an honest little fellow, and not half such a fool as he appeared—and he had a conscience, and Pembroke began to feel sorry already for the pain poor Cole would have to endure.
But Cole was not the only subject of amusement. Ahlberg, now that his dinner was over, considered conversation in order—and began to give his views on things in general, upon which young Hibbs and young Peyton and the others hung with delight. Pembroke therefore thinking it well to get Cole out of the way while he could yet walk, suggested that he should escape for a breath of fresh air—to which Cole assented, and might have slipped out unnoticed, but for his assumption of a lofty stride, which would have landed him on the floor but for a timely arm from Hans.
The fun grew fast and furious, and everybody at the table was flushed except Ahlberg and Pembroke. Ahlberg drank as much as anybody, but his delicate hand was as steady, and his cold blue eyes as clear as if it had been water from the well he was drinking. Pembroke did not drink much and remained cool and smiling.
After an hour or two had passed, he began to be intensely bored by Mr. Hibbs’ songs, who now became the minstrel, Ahlberg’s long stories and young Peyton’s jokes—and besides he wondered at Mr. Cole’s absence. So in the midst of a lively discussion, he quietly left his seat and went out.
In the hall several doors opened—but from the drawing-room door came a flood of light, and voices. He heard Madame Koller’s somewhat shrill tones saying:
“But Mr. Cole, I cannot marry you—fancy me—”