Maida sat where he had left her on the brink of the dance, and grew very sad when he did not return to her side. What had she done to offend or weary him? But at least he was not dancing--that was something. Yet where could he be? A heaviness came over her spirits, and she felt depressed for the first time in the last four-and-twenty hours.
CHAPTER XXII.
["WELL, PETER?"]
Next day was Sunday. Compared with other days at Clam Beach, it was the same with a difference--leisure combined with fresh air, but partaken of in a different form. Church was the recognised occupation; but the churches were at Blue Fish Creek, four miles away, down the coast in the other direction from Lippenstock. Omnibuses were in use to convey the inmates, and everybody went, even the old people, the dull ones, the invalid, and the young children. It was the only outing which the dull people allowed themselves; there was nothing to pay for the carriage exercise, and they never missed it.
Mrs Naylor and Mrs Wilkie remained at home. They had had enough of driving the day before, and found it agreeable now to sit still in the deserted gallery, and absorb sunshine and fresh air in peace. At least such was the state of Mrs Naylor's feelings. Not being a British mother, she had considerable confidence in her daughter's ability to take care of herself, so long, at least, as that pernicious young man Walter Blount was away, and she had no ground to suspect his presence on Fessenden's Island. Besides, she was aware now that the girl's uncle had also been left behind, therefore she was safe, not to mention Peter Wilkie, whose mother had been making herself ridiculous on the subject all the previous evening. There was nothing very compromising in the situation, so far as she could see; in fact, with her desire to suppress the girl's kindness for Blount, she could almost have wished there had been. It would have brought the other young man up to the point of committing himself, and, with a little maternal pressure, compelled her to accept him; and as she had quite made up her mind that Margaret was to marry in Toronto, that pressure would assuredly be forthcoming.
Mrs Wilkie's motherly feelings were in a state of ebullition which would not let her sit still. She would get up from her chair and pace the gallery with irregular steps, puffing and sighing distractedly, get tired and plump down again, pressing her hands together, and sighing worse than before. Her boy was done for--bagged by a designing girl. Speculatively and in the abstract, she was wont to express a strong desire to see him married, whatever she may have felt; but the ideal spouse had never yet appeared--or rather, whenever there seemed a possibility of any fair one finding favour in his eyes, she began to see objections, even if she had herself recommended the girl and fancied that she would like him to marry her. Speculatively, she had held Margaret Naylor in the highest esteem; actually, she found herself detesting her with all her might. She had struck up quite a friendship with her mother, and the fellow-boarders had differed only as to which of the mothers was most desirous of being allied to the other. Now, alas! her son's fate seemed to be decided. She must resign the first place in his care, and had her supplanter been a seraph with wings come straight down from heaven, she could not have accepted her without a spasm of jealousy.
"Cast upon a desert island," she muttered to herself, as she paced the gallery. "A second Robinson Crusoe, with his man Friday. But it's not a man Friday! It's worse; it's a girl Friday!--or rather, it's worse than any Friday at all--it's the parrot! A gabbin', chatterin', useless thing--all tongue and feathers, and not wan grain of sense in its head. An empty, feckless, dressed-up doll, with nothing but the face and the clothes to recommend her. How can men of intelleck be such fools? And after all, it isn't much of a face even. I've seen----" but here the soliloquy grew inaudible; only, judging by the toss of her head, which set the little grey curls on her temples a-dancing, it must have been what she had seen in her own mirror long ago which was so much more admirable.
She dropped into a chair near her companion, panting, and fanned herself vehemently, complaining of the heat. It seemed to make her hotter still to sit beside Mrs Naylor, in her present frame of mind.
"Try to sit still, dear Mrs Wilkie. You will find it the best way to get cool," Mrs Naylor said, very sweetly. "He will be sure to be home very soon. My brother-in-law is with them, you know; and between two gentlemen, they will be sure to contrive some means of getting away."
Mrs Wilkie snorted, and fanned herself more vehemently than before, relapsing into her late mutterings about Robinson Crusoe and the desert island; but, disturbed as she was, she had presence of mind enough to suppress the parrot, and complained of the heat and her palpitations instead.