“I should have thought an effort could have been made on such an occasion,” was his final thrust, as he gave his arm ungraciously to Nan, and conducted her with ominous solemnity to the table.
It was not a festive meal, in spite of all Mrs. Mayne’s efforts. Dick looked glum. He was separated from Nan by a vast silver epergne, that fully screened her from view. Another time she would have peeped merrily round at him and given him a sprightly nod or two; but how was she to do it when Mr. Mayne never relaxed his gloomy muscles, and when he insisted on keeping up a ceremonious flow of conversation with her on the subjects of the day?
When Dick tried to strike into their talk, he got so visibly snubbed that he was obliged to take refuge with Phillis.
“You young fellows never know what you are talking about,” observed Mr. Mayne, sharply, when Dick had hazarded a remark about the Premier’s policy; “you are a Radical one day, and a Conservative another. That comes of your debating societies. You take contrary sides, and mix up a balderdash of ideas, until 43 you don’t know whether you are standing on your head or your heels;” and it was after this that Dick found his refuge with Phillis.
It was little better when they were all in the drawing-room together. If Mr. Mayne had invited them there for the purpose of keeping them all under his own eyes and making them uncomfortable, he could not have managed better. When Dick suggested a stroll in the garden, he said,—
“Pshaw! what nonsense proposing such a thing, when the dews are heavy and the girls will catch their deaths of cold!”
“We do it every evening of our life,” observed Nan, hardily; but even she dared not persevere in the face of this protest, though she exchanged a rebellious look with Dick that did him good and put him in a better humor.
They found their way into the conservatory after that, but were hunted out on pretence of having a little music; at least Nan would have it that it was pretence.
“Your father does not care much for music, I know,” she whispered, as she placed herself at the grand piano, while Dick leaned against it and watched her. It was naughty of Nan, but there was no denying that she found Mr. Mayne more aggravating than usual this evening.
“Come, come, Miss Nancy!” he called out,—he always called her that when he wished to annoy her, for Nan had a special dislike to her quaint, old-fashioned name; it had been her mother’s and grandmother’s name; in every generation there had been a Nancy Challoner,—“come, come, Miss Nancy! we cannot have you playing at hide-and-seek in this fashion. We want some music. Give us something rousing, to keep us all awake.” And Nan had reluctantly placed herself at the piano.