"Do you take Darvy?"
"Darvy!" echoed Lady Adela. "No, indeed. I shall be, so to say, a servant myself."
Selina, in very dismay, gave her hands a slight wring. To her, it seemed that Adela might as well put herself at once out of the world.
"I must be going," she said, advancing to say farewell. "You are sure you will not come to the fête, Adela?"
"I have done with fêtes for ever," replied Adela, as she drew down Selina's face for a farewell kiss. "Perhaps you will write to me sometimes?" And Selina Dalrymple, sick and sorry for the blighted life, went out with her eyes full of tears.
The day wore on to the afternoon, and the business of the fête began. Old and young, gentle and simple, the aristocracy surrounding the neighbourhood, the tenant-farmers and the labourers, all congregated on the lawns, in the gardens, and in the home field, where the tents were placed. Of the attendants, Reuben was chief, his fresh face happy again as of yore.
Amidst games, dancing, and various other entertainments, there was a fancy-fair, the proceeds of it to be distributed to the poor: though indeed it was more for fun than gain, fortune-telling, post-offices, and mock auctions prevailing.
Alice Dalrymple had a corner in this tent for her reclining chair, and watched with pleasure the busy scene. Lady Frances Hope stood by her; her husband was flitting from stall to stall. Robert's coming back had worked wonders for Alice.
"There!" said Gerard, coming up to her, his face gay as usual, his tone light, as he handed a charming bouquet to Alice: "a fine squabble I have had to get you this. Ten shillings those keepers of the flower-stall wanted, if you'll believe me I gave them five, and told them they were harpies."
"You should not have bought it for me," smiled Alice, gratefully inhaling at the same time the scent of the flowers. "You are just what you always were, Gerard—thinking of every one else, never of self."