Cornelia and Geoffrey Greville passed along the hall, with its great oak fireplace filled in with branches of spreading beech, its decorations of tapestry, of armour, of stags’ heads, of cases of stuffed birds. The ceiling was beamed with oak, the floor was polished to a dangerous brightness, and covered in the centre by an ancient Persian rug. Cornelia had never seen such an interior except as it is imitated on the stage. Her own tessellated, be-fountained entrance hall in New York was as far removed from it on the one side, as on the other was the square of oil-cloth, decorated with a hat-stand and two mahogany chairs, which at The Nook was dignified by the same title. She admired, but admired with reservations. “Kinder mouldy!” summoned up the ultimate verdict.
Geoffrey moved moodily towards the doorway. Though bitterly annoyed at his mother’s interference, he was too much of a gentleman to wreak his vengeance on the innocent cause of his exile. As a mitigation of the penance, it occurred to him that he might occupy the time of absence by talking of Elma since he might not talk to her; but Providence was merciful, and came to his aid at the eleventh hour. The inner door opened, and Captain Guest appeared upon the threshold, cap in hand, evidently returning from a solitary ramble, and by no means overjoyed to have arrived at such an inopportune moment. He bowed, murmured some inarticulate greeting, and would have passed by had not Geoffrey eagerly blocked the way. For the moment the claims of friendship were non-existent; he did not care whether Guest were pleased or annoyed; he was simply a means of escape, to be seized on without compunction.
“Halloa, here you are! Just the man I wanted,” he cried genially. “You shall have the privilege of driving Miss Briskett home. I was going to take her myself, but I’ve got some rather—er—pressing business to attend to before dinner”—he chuckled mentally over the application of the words—“so I’ll stand aside in your favour. We are not going to trust her out of our sight until she is delivered safely into her aunt’s keeping. Awfully sorry, Miss Briskett, but we shall meet again! You’ll come up to see Miss Ramsden, won’t you? Do come! Come on Saturday—we could make up a game of tennis if she is fit enough by that time.”
He helped Cornelia to her seat courteously, yet with an underlying haste which could not be concealed. Captain Guest gave him one look—a murderous look—and murmured, “Delighted, I’m shaw!” in tones of ice. Cornelia felt “ugly,” and looked delightful; head erect, lips pursed, eyes a-flash.
“Just as mad as he can be, to be obliged to be civil to ‘the girl’ for a short half hour! Guess there’s one or two, several sizes bigger than him, who would cross the ocean to-morrow for the chance! He’s English—real English!—the sort that’s fixed up with liquid prejudice for blood, and eye-glasses made to see nothing on earth but the British Empire. Rather skeery at the present moment at being set down beside a bold American hussy, with only a groom as chaperon! ... Well! I always was tender-hearted. I’ll pile it on all I know, to fix him in his opinions. I’m made so’s I ken’t endoore to disappoint anyone in his expectations!”
She turned deliberately to stare at the silent figure by her side. Certainly he was a fine figure of a man! Her own countrymen who would have travelled so far as to take his place, would have to be giants if the “several sizes” bigger were to be taken in literal earnest. The lean cheek showed the square formation of the jaw, the lips were clean shaven, the eyes dark, deep-set, thickly lashed and browed, the only handsome feature in the face. Cornelia mentally pulled herself together, as Guest turned his head, and cast a fleeting glance at her beneath his drooping lids.
“I was sorry to hear that your friend is too ill to be moved. I imagined at the time that she was worse than you realised.”
“She thinks she is, anyhow, and that’s about as good as the real thing—perhaps better, where health’s concerned. Some people don’t need much to upset ’em—Elma’s one! I guess there’s never much snap to her!”
The dark brows arched expressively. “Really! I am afraid I hardly—er—understand the expression!”
“You wouldn’t!” returned Cornelia, calmly. “It don’t seem to flourish in this part of the country. At home we reckon no one is much use without it.”