And meanwhile Mr. Parker has been rivaling Algy in the ardor with which he calls in the aid of the champagne to keep out the wet. At each fresh tumbler his joviality goes up a step, until at length it reaches a pitch which produces an opposite effect on me, and engenders a depressed fright.
"Barbara," say I, in a low voice, when at length the moment of departure draws near, and only Musgrave is within ear-shot—"Barbara, has it struck you? do not you think he is rather—"
Barbara, however, is diffident of her own opinion, and repeats my question to her lover.
He shrugs his shoulders.
"Is he? I have not noticed him; nothing more likely; last time I saw him he was flying! It was in India at a great pig-sticking meeting, and after dinner he got up to the top of a big mango-tree, and tried to fly! Of course he fell down, but he was so drunk that he was not in the least hurt."
Mr. Musgrave seems to think this an amusing anecdote; but we do not.
"Why do not you drive?" I ask, contrary to all my resolutions addressing my future brother-in-law, and indeed forgetting in my alarm that I had ever made such. I am reminded of it, however, by the look of gratification that flashes—for only one moment and is gone—but still flashes into the depths of his great dark eyes.
"It is so likely that he would let me!" he says, laughing.
"I would not mind so much if I were at the back!" I say, piteously, turning to Barbara. "At the back one does not know what is coming, but on the box one sees whatever is happening."
"That is rather an advantage I think," she answers, laughing. "I do not mind; I will go on the box."