The scene was the drawing-room at the Hatch, where a party of callers were spending the afternoon, eating bread-and-butter and drinking tea, and planning new delights. After this breakdown, for so he felt it, Everard withdrew hastily to Mrs. Austin’s sofa, and began to talk to her, though he did not quite know what it was about. Mild Mrs. Austin, though she did not understand the attempts which one or two of the visitors of the house had made to flirt with her, was pleased to be talked to, and approved of Everard, who was never noisy, though often “led away,” like all the others, by the foolishness of the girls.
“I am glad you said that about this slang they talk,” said Mrs. Austin. “Perhaps coming from you it may have some weight with them. They do not mind what I say. And have you heard any more about poor Herbert? You must not think Mr. Austin is low about it, as they said. They only say such things to make people laugh.”
This charitable interpretation arose from the poor lady’s desire to do the best for her step children, whom it was one of the regrets of her faded life, now and then breathed into the ear of a confidential friend, that she did not love as she ought.
“I have only heard he is better,” said Everard; “and it is no particular virtue on my part to be heartily glad of it. I am not poor Herbert’s heir.”
He spoke louder than he had any need to speak; for Mrs. Austin, though an invalid, was not at all deaf. But I fear that he had a hankering to be heard and replied to, and called back into the chattering circle which had formed round the girls. Neither Kate nor Sophy, however, had any time at the moment to attend to Everard, whom they felt sure they could wheedle back at any time. He gave a glance toward them with the corner of his eye, and saw Kate seriously inclining her pretty pink ear to some barrack joke which the most noble Marquis of Dropmore was recounting with many interruptions of laughter; while Sophy carried on with Lord Alf and an applauding auditory that discussion where the line should be drawn, and what girls might and might not do. “I hunt whenever I can,” Sophy was saying; “and wish there was a ladies’ club at Hurlingham or somewhere; I should go in for all the prizes. And I’m sure I could drive your team every bit as well as you do. Oh, what I would give just to have the ribbons in my hand! You should see then how a drag could go.”
Everard listened, deeply disgusted. He had not been in the least disgusted when the same sort of thing had been said to himself, but had laughed and applauded with the rest, feeling something quite irresistible in the notion of pretty Sophy’s manly longings. Her little delicate hands, her slim person, no weightier than a bird, the toss of her charming head, with its wavy, fair locks, like a flower, all soft color and movement, had put ineffable humor into the suggestion of those exploits in which she longed to emulate the heroes of the household brigade. But now, when Everard was outside the circle, he felt a totally different sentiment move him. Clouds and darkness came over his face, and I do not know what further severity might have come from his lips had not Mr. Farrel-Austin, looking still blacker than himself, come into the room, in a way which added very little to the harmony, though something to the amusement, of the party. He nodded to the visitors, snarled at the girls, and said something disagreeable to his wife, all in two minutes by the clock.
“How can you expect to be well, if you go on drinking tea for ever and ever?” he said to the only harmless member of the party. “Afternoon tea must have been invented by the devil himself to destroy women’s nerves and their constitutions.” He said this as loudly and with the same intention as had moved Everard; and he had more success, for Dropmore, Alf, and the rest turned round with their teacups in their hands, and showed their excellent teeth under their moustachios in a roar of laughter. “I had not the least idea I was so amusing,” said Mr. Farrel, sourer than ever. “Here, Everard, let me have a word with you.”
“By Jove! he is down on his luck,” said Lord Alf to Sophy in an audible aside.
“Didn’t I tell you so?” said the elegant young lady; “and when he’s low he’s always as cross as two sticks.”
“Everard,” said Mr. Farrel-Austin, “I am going over to Whiteladies on business. That old witch, Susan Austin, has outwitted us both. As it is your interest as well as mine, you had better drive over with me—unless you prefer the idiocy here to all the interests of life, as some of these fools seem to do.”