Whether he had been successful or not Mrs. Challoner hardly knew. That he had married and settled in Calcutta,—that he had a son named Harry, who had once written to her in round hand and subscribed himself as her affectionate nephew, Henry Ford Challoner—this she knew; but what manner of person Lady Challoner might be, or what sort of home her brother-in-law had made for himself, those points were enveloped in mystery.
“I suppose she is so civil to me because of your uncle Francis,” she used to say to her girls, which was attributing to Lady Fitzroy a degree of snobbishness that was quite undeserved. Lady Fitzroy really liked Mrs. Challoner and found intercourse with her very pleasant and refreshing. When one is perfectly well-bred, there is a subtile charm in harmony of voice and manner. Mrs. Challoner might have dressed in rags if she liked, and the young countess would still have aired her choicest smiles for her.
It was lucky Nan had those few words from Dick, for they fell apart after this, and were separated the greater portion of the afternoon. 33
Carriages began to drive in at the gates; groups of well-dressed people thronged the lawn, and were drafted off to the field where the band was playing.
Nan and her sisters had their work cut out for them; they knew everybody and they were free of the house. It was they who helped Dick arrange the tennis-matches, who pointed out to the young men of the party which was the tea-tent, and where the ices and claret-cup were to be found. They marshalled the elder ladies into pleasant nooks, where they could be sheltered from the sun and see all that was going on.
“No, thank you; I shall not play tennis this afternoon; there are too many of us, and I am so busy,” Nan said, dismissing one after another who came up to her. “If you want a partner, there is Carrie Paine, who is dying for a game.”
Dick, who was passing with Lady Fitzroy on his arm, whom he was hurrying somewhat unceremoniously across the field, threw her a grateful glance as he went by.
“What a sweet-looking girl that is!” said Lady Fitzroy, graciously, as she panted a little over her exertion.
“Who?—Nan? Yes; isn’t she a brick?—and the others too?” for Phillis and Dulce were just as self-denying in their labors. As Mr. Mayne said afterwards, “They were just everywhere, those Challoners, like a hive of swarming bees;” which, as it was said in a grumbling tone, was ungrateful, to say the least of it.
Dick worked like a horse too; he looked all the afternoon as though he had a tough job in hand that required the utmost gravity and despatch. He was forever hurrying elderly ladies across the field towards the refreshment-tent, where he deposited them, panting and heated, in all sorts of corners.