“I entirely agree with you, Mrs. Parke,” Lord Witheringham said.
“What is the use,” cried Letitia, “of putting on a gloss of nobility when you have the substance before; and what is the use of plastering over a name that means nothing with titles? For my part I think there’s nothing like real antiquity—a family that has lived in the same place and owned the same ground from the beginning of time.”
“Mrs. Parke, I admire every word you say. Such just feeling is very uncommon,” Lord Witheringham said.
“Lord, Tisch, how do you run on! How father would have stared if he had heard you. A title for us!—oh, by Jove?” cried Ralph. His roar shook the table. Oh, if some one would kill him—poison him—put him out of Letitia’s sight!
CHAPTER VI.
The room swam in Letitia’s eyes; a mist seemed to rise over the sparkling dining-table—over all the faces of the guests. The voices, too, rang in a kind of hubbub, one confused, big noise through which she seemed able to be sure of nothing except the words of Ralph and the laughter, in which all round were so ridiculously, so horribly ready to join. What revelations he might make! How certainly he would prove to the others that he was no elegant prodigal from the fashionable deserts where so many great persons went after big game, but a mere Australian stockman sent there because nobody knew what to do with him at home! She was vaguely aware of talking a great deal herself to stop his talking, if possible, with the dreadful result of merely increasing his outpourings, and of having to subside at last in sheer prostration of faculty, into an alarmed and horrified silence. Ralph, it was evident, amused her guests though he did not amuse Letitia. And that dreadful Mrs. Kington, how she devoted herself to him; how she played upon him and drew him out! When the moment came for the ladies’ withdrawal, Letitia rose with mingled relief and terror. She said to herself that no man could be so dangerous by Ralph’s side as that clever, spiteful woman; and yet at the same time the dreadful consciousness that among men when they were alone revelations still more appalling might be made, and that John knew nothing of this prodigal brother, gave her a new cause of alarm. Even in such dreadful circumstances, however, a woman has to endure and say nothing. She gave Ralph a glance as she passed him which might have annihilated him, but which conveyed no idea to the obtuse mind of the bushman: while he elevated his eyebrows at her, and made a noise with his tongue against his palate. “You are in all your glory, Tisch!” he said, as she passed. But furious and terrified as she was, she had to go like a martyr to the stake and leave him—to do further harm—who could tell? Mary Hill was in the drawing-room when the ladies filed in, wearing a dyed dress which Letitia had given her, with nervous hands clasped tightly together, and anxiety and panic in her eyes. Mrs. Parke gave her an angry grip as she passed, and said in a fierce whisper, “How could you let him come?” to which Mary answered with a confused murmur of anxious explanation. And then the ordeal began once more.
“How amusing your brother is, Mrs. Parke. I don’t know when I have laughed so much. It is so delightful to meet a man like that out of the wilds—and so genuine—and so funny!”
“You had all the fun at your end of the table,” said another lady. “We heard you all in shrieks of laughter, and wanted to know what it was about.”
“It was about everything,” said Mrs. Kington, laughing at the recollection. “He is so delightfully wild, and such a democrat, and so unconventional.”
“Too much so, a great deal, for the comfort of his family,” said Letitia, with a gasp. She was clever enough to seize upon the chance thus afforded her. “It is not so amusing when the person belongs to you, and when you know how he has thrown away all his chances,” she said, panting.