When the two drove away on the first stage of their experiment, Mr. and Mrs. Waring, the Rector and Mrs. Fellowes, Dacre and a few others stood watching them from the great stone steps of the hall.
Mrs. Fellowes was reflecting with mixed feelings on Gwen’s good-bye to her mother, which by chance she had witnessed. The girl had already, in the face of everyone, bidden her a quiet and emotionless farewell, but just at the last she had swept round suddenly, as if she were driven, and had caught the little dazed creature—a deal too young to be her mother—in her arms, and had given her an imperative hug of the volcanic order. As it was a first experience, no one could blame the little woman from shrinking visibly from it, and, when it was over, for escaping with a sigh to the side of her husband, and slipping her hand into his with the air of one who has escaped a danger. Gwen allowed one flash of angry pain to shoot from her eyes, then she walked grandly out of the house with her hand quite properly on her father’s arm, which Dacre took good care to have in readiness.
“Dacre!” said Mrs. Fellowes, as soon as they were well off, “we must get rid of these people. I am sure we have all done our duty by them, and your father and mother have, very obviously, had enough of them.”
“I am ready to swear that Admiral Trowe has had a good sight too much of the governor. He has been hammering into him the life and blow-up of that gray rock at Henty’s they are always grubbing at, for a solid ten minutes. Now he’s on selection, and the Admiral has murder in his eye—look!”
“Yes, and your mother, see how tired she looks! She is telling Mrs. Irvine the most wonderful new facts about babies. Mrs. Irvine has ten, two sets of twins among them, and she is the champion mother of the parish. Dacre, you cover one wing, I shall manœuvre the other, there’s not a minute to lose.”
In next to no time they had cleared the field, and Mr. and Mrs. Fellowes were just about to say good-bye and to carry Dacre off to dinner, when to their amazement, after a hurried consultation, Mr. and Mrs. Waring begged them to stay, and drew them into the library, utterly ignoring the furious Dacre, who betook himself, softly swearing, to the stables, where he wandered disconsolately, scathing the screws that lumbered the stalls and thanking God lustily that his stud was elsewhere.
Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Fellowes were closeted together in the library. While the other two looked silently and questioningly at one another Mrs. Fellowes telegraphed despairing signals to her husband.
“It has been a most wearing day,” said Mr. Waring at last, “I feared my wife would break down under the strain. No doubt you felt it too?” he went on with his brows raised, looking concernedly at his guests. “I thought, my dear,” and he pressed her hand, “I thought, my dear, that our daughter Gwen bore it admirably, the girl appears to have much courage, the courage of your race, my love.”
He beamed softly down on her, and paused for an unconscionable time, then suddenly he remembered himself and started.
“Our daughter Gwen is a very beautiful person,” he went on, musing aloud. “I do not think I ever noticed the fact until lately, until that night she went to some—h’m—party with Lady Mary. Dearest, do you recollect?”