Madame recounted her impressions of the trip and found that Lord Eveley was in agreement with her regarding the exorbitant prices charged in western hotels. Accustomed as he was to express his opinions in public platform style, he soon had Keble’s half of the table as audience, while Louise gathered in loose threads of talk at her end. The back of her dinner was now broken and she was standing with one foot triumphantly resting on its prostrate form. When the ices arrived she couldn’t resist announcing that the accompanying cakes had been made by herself. The exclamations were silenced by Aunt Denise who lifted her voice to complain of Louise’s cheer.
“Your table groans with luxuries, my child. You have forgotten the lessons in thrift I taught you when you were a girl.”
For the first time the little doctor turned from Lady Eveley. “I am to blame for that,” he said. “You see, sister, after you had left us, Nana and Louise tried to make me eat wooden cakes made without eggs, according to your instructions. I can’t digest wood, so I extracted from Louise’s curly head, one by one, all the notions you had put into it, and we lived extravagantly ever after,—it’s a sinful world, va.”
To soften for his sister the laughter that greeted his defense of Louise, Dr. Bruneau added, “With you it was different, since those who have rich spiritual lives don’t need rich food. Louise and I, poor heathens, had nothing to indulge but our appetites.”
“You are free to do so,” returned Aunt Denise, in no wise discomfited. “My lessons were only the principles of economy and sacrifice our mother had taught me, the principles which, if you remember, mon frère, made it possible for you and me to have an education.”
The company seemed relieved to find that royalty could, on occasion, be “answered back”, and Lord Eveley’s hearty laugh at the mischievous but not unkind sally had been followed by a scrutinizing glance which hinted that the statesman had found a mind worth exploring.
By the time the fruit had appeared, duly perspiring, Louise had only two worries left. First, the quiescence of the Windroms smote her conscience: she felt that she had been gratuitous in warning Mrs. Windrom, while leaving Aunt Denise a license to talk which Aunt Denise had been well-bred enough not to abuse. Second, she was not entirely easy in her mind regarding Dare’s silence. He had done his duty by the pastor’s wife, yet there was some boding unhappiness in his manner. Before the house was opened Dare had always set the key. Under the old conditions he would have taken the whole company into his hands and played with them. And while his moodiness was, in one sense, a deeply stirring tribute, at the same time there was in it something which made her feel remorseful, and afraid,—not for herself. It was as though her conscience were pointing out to her the consequences of extravagance in her moral kitchen. In the intellectual cakes she had baked for herself and Dare there had perhaps been too many emotional ingredients. They were rich and many had been eaten. Dare was conceivably experiencing this evening the ill effects.
In the midst of her reflections Lord Eveley surprised her by rising and delivering a little speech which was at the same time a dedication of the house and a tribute to its mistress. Anything in the nature of orthodox ceremony intimidated her. There were toasts,—and Miriam had never told her what one was supposed to do in such a contingency. Moreover she hadn’t meant to drink her last glass of wine, and rather dazedly wished she hadn’t.
After dinner the company divided for bridge and dancing, and Louise seized a moment to lay a sympathetic hand on Dare’s coat-sleeve.
“Are you so bored?” she whispered.