Tom had taken care to procure an early and advantageous seat for the occasion, and, with one of the vicar’s daughters under his patronage and control, prepared to enjoy himself at last. He had had a bad time of it so far, for he was in the black-books of almost every youth in the room, and had been posted as a defaulter in whatever corner he had tried to hide from his creditors.
“It’s awful having a pretty sister,” said he confidentially to his companion; “gets a fellow into no end of a mess. I wish I was your brother instead.”
“Thank you,” said the young lady, laughing.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” said Tom. “You’re good enough looking, I think. But I don’t see why Rosalind can’t pick her own partners, instead of me having to manage it for her. Look out! if that chap opposite sees me he’ll kick—put the ferns between. There she is next to Roger. Like her cheek, bagging the best place. Do you see that kid there grinning at the fellow with the eye-glass? That’s my young sister—ought to be in bed instead of fooling about here. Ah, I knew it! she’s planted herself opposite the grapes. If we don’t look out we shan’t get one. That’s my governor coming in; looks rather chippy, don’t he? I say, lean forward, or he’ll see me. He’s caught me in the supper-room five or six times already this evening. By the way, where’s old Ratty? Do you know Ratty, Miss Isabel? No end of a scorch. Just the chap for you. I’ll introduce you. Hullo! where is he?” added he, looking up and down the table cautiously. “Surely he’s not going to shirk the feed? Never mind, Miss Isabel; I’ll work it round for you if I can.”
Miss Isabel expressed her gratitude with a smile, and asked Tom how he liked living at Maxfield.
“Oh, all right, now I’ve got a football and can go shooting in the woods. I have to pay up for it though with lessons, and—(thanks; all right; just a little more. Won’t you have some yourself while it’s here?)—Armstrong makes us stick at it. I say, by the way, do you remember that fellow who died? (Don’t take any of that; it’s no good. Wire in to a wing of the partridge instead.) Eh, do you?”
“Whom? What are you talking about?” asked she, bewildered.
“Ah, it doesn’t matter. He died twenty-one years ago, before Roger was born. I thought you might have known him.”
“Really, Tom, you are not complimentary. You can’t expect me to remember before I was born.”
“What! aren’t you twenty-one?” asked Tom, staring round at her. “Go on; you’re joking! No? Why, you look twice the age! This chap, you know, would have been the heir if he’d lived. There’s a picture of him upstairs.”