‘I did not think that I should have cared half as much about these races,’ said Wilfred. ‘I had doubts about coming at all, and really I don’t think I should have done so but for the girls and my mother. It is sure to do them good. But after all, Dick and Tom, not to speak of Andrew, are equal to more than the work they have to do at present, and I suppose one need not be always in sight of one’s men.’
Rockley Lodge was profusely lighted. From the murmur of voices and rustle of dresses there appeared to be a large number of persons collected in the drawing-room, redolent of welcome as it ever was.
As they entered the house a voice was heard, saying, in tones not particularly modulated, ‘Order in dinner; I won’t wait another moment for any man in Australia.’
Effingham recognised his late visitor in the speaker, who, arrayed in correct evening costume, immediately greeted him with much deference, mingled with that degree of welcome usually accorded to a distinguished, long-absent relative.
‘My dear Captain Effingham, I am proud to see you. So you’ve found your way to Yass at last. Hope to see you here often. St. Maur, let me make you known to Captain Effingham. I heard him mention having met your brother in India. Bob Clarke; where’s Bob Clarke? Oh, here he is. You’ll know one another better before the races are over. Christabel, come here; what are you going away for? Mr. Wilfred Effingham you know, Mr. Guy you never saw; capital partners you’ll find them, I daresay. Is the dinner coming in, or is it not? [this with a sudden change of voice]. Mr. Churbett not come? Wait for Fred Churbett, the most unpunctual man in New South Wales! I’ll see him——’
Fortunately for Mr. Rockley’s ante-dinner eloquence the necessity for finishing this sentence was obviated by the appearance of the butler, who announced dinner, after which Mr. Rockley, saying, ‘Captain Effingham, will you take in Mrs. Rockley? I see your friend Sternworth has just made his way in with Fred Churbett; it’s well for them they weren’t ten minutes later,’ offered his arm to Mrs. Effingham, and led the way with much dignity.
The room was large, and the table, handsomely laid and decorated, looked as if it was in the habit of being furnished for a liberal guest list. There could not have been less than thirty people present, exclusive of the six members of Mr. Rockley’s own family. Their friends Hamilton and Argyll were there, as also Mr. St. Maur, a tall, aristocratic-looking personage from the far north; Mr. Clarke, a pleasant-faced, frank youngster, whom everybody called Bob; Mr. and Mrs. Robert Malahyde, and other prepossessing-looking strangers, male and female; and lastly, their old friend Harley Sternworth.
What warmth, friendliness, cordiality, pervaded the entertainment! All apparently felt and talked like near relations, between whom had never arisen a question of property or precedence.
Mrs. Rockley, her daughter, and nieces were lively and unaffected, and beyond all comparison considerately hospitable. Rosamond and her sisters, dressed, for the first time since their arrival, in accordance with the laws of fashion as then promulgated, looked, to the eyes of their fond parents and brothers, as though endowed with fresh beauty and a distinction of air hitherto unmarked.
The dinner was in all respects a success—well served, well cooked; and as Mr. Rockley was severe as to his taste in wines, that department fully satisfied a fastidious critic, as was Howard Effingham. Messrs. Churbett, Argyll, and Hamilton, as habitués, had numberless jokes and pleasantries in common with the young ladies, which served to elicit laughter and general merriment; while Hampden, St. Maur, the parson, and Mr. Rockley in turn diverged into political argument, in which their host was exceptionally strong.