"That's a mercy!" cried Betty, running forward to Marcella and kissing her. "I really don't know what would have happened if Mr. Leven and I had been left alone any longer. As for the Kilkenny cats, my dear, don't mention them!"
The child was flushed and agitated, and there was an angry light in her blue eyes. Frank looked simply lumpish and miserable.
"Yes, here I am," said Betty, holding Marcella, and chattering as fast as possible. "I made Miss Raeburn bring me over, that I might just catch a sight of you. She would walk home, and leave the carriage for me. Isn't it like all the topsy-turvy things nowadays? When I'm her age I suppose I shall have gone back to dolls. Please to look at those ponies!—they're pawing your gravel to bits. And as for my watch, just inspect it!"—She thrust it reproachfully under Marcella's eyes. "You've been such a time in there talking, that Sir Frank and I have had time to quarrel for life, and there isn't a minute left for anything rational. Oh! good-bye, my dear, good-bye. I never kept Miss Raeburn waiting for lunch yet, did I, Mr. Aldous? and I mustn't begin now. Come along, Mr. Aldous! You'll have to come home with me. I'm frightened to death of those ponies. You shan't drive, but if they bolt, I'll give them to you to pull in. Dear, dear Marcella, let me come again—soon—directly!"
A few more sallies and kisses, a few more angry looks at Frank and appeals to Aldous, who was much less responsive than usual, and the child was seated, very erect and rosy, on the driving seat of the little pony-carriage, with Aldous beside her.
"Are you coming, Frank?" said Aldous; "there's plenty of room."
His strong brow had a pucker of annoyance. As he spoke he looked, not at Frank, but at Marcella. She was standing a trifle back, among the shadows of the doorway, and her attitude conveyed to him an impression of proud aloofness. A sigh that was half pain, half resignation, passed his lips unconsciously.
"Thank you, I'll walk," said Frank, fiercely.
* * * * *
"Now, will you please explain to me why you look like that, and talk like that?" said Marcella, with cutting composure, when she was once more in the library, and Frank, crimson to the roots of his hair, and saying incoherent things, had followed her there.
"I should think you might guess," said Frank, in reproachful misery, as he hung over the fire.