Not a word was said of Archie in the house of Rosmore until the tired and still sleepy party assembled to breakfast. Evelyn, who had not closed her eyes till daylight, had slept late, and had not been disturbed; and her husband had no opportunity of questioning her, had he been disposed, until they met at the breakfast-table. The rest of the party were all assembled when she came in—Rowland himself invisible behind his newspaper, and taking no notice, while the others were talking as gaily as usual, without any sign of being moved by any knowledge of a catastrophe. Eddy Saumarez indeed had dark lines under his eyes, but his talk was endless as ever. He gave Mrs. Rowland a quick and keen look of investigation as she came in, but Eddy was the last person in her thoughts, and she did not even observe the glance. The conversation, in due course of the table, ran on without much interruption from the strangers, who dropped in one by one, and to whom the mistress of the house gave all her care.
“Archie was magnificent with Lady Jean,” said Eddy. “I never saw anything so good as his bow. He put his feet together like a French dandy of the last century. We’ve lost the art in our degenerate days.”
“Oh,” said Marion, “that was nothing wonderful, for it was a Frenchman that we got our dancing from, Archie and me. He used to play a little fiddle and caper about. Some people thought he was old-fashioned—the MacColls—but they were just as ignorant! He taught me that way of doing my steps, you know”—And Marion sprang up, lifting a fold of her dress to exhibit a neat foot pointed in a manner which presumably her former partner had admired.
“Oh yes, I know—you danced young Cameron’s heart away. As for mine, it is well known I have got none. But did you see him in the reel? By Jove, he sprang a foot from the floor.”
“Who is him?” said Rosamond—“Mr. Rowland or Mr. Cameron—you might make your descriptions more clear.”
“Oh Archie! No. He wanted lightness perhaps a little in the waltzes, but the reels he performed like one to the manner born.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Marion, “that he was more born to one than to the other. We’ve danced very few reels, if that is what you mean. Waltzes and polkas, and so forth, is what we were learned to dance—just like other people. But it is true that Archie was never so good at it as—”
Marion paused with a feeling of her stepmother’s eyes upon her, though indeed Mrs. Rowland was far too much occupied by the other guests, even had her mind been less troubled, to have any perception of the chatter going on at her side.
“It is savage,” said Rosamond, “but it has a kind of sense in it; whereas going round and round is delirious, but it has none. One enjoys dancing very much, but one is rather ashamed of it after it is over. Why should one spend hours doing nothing but go round and round? When you look on and don’t dance, it is silly beyond anything in the world.”
“I dare say the wall flowers think so,” said Eddy. “But they would not if they could get partners.”