Supported by Uncle Dick and Dr Guy, and followed by Dr Joy, Philip proceeded to his bedroom.
‘This is most unfortunate,’ muttered Wrentham, looking much distressed. ‘I had no idea the brute would play such a trick.’
Mr Hadleigh apparently paid no attention to this. Taking his place at the table, he spoke quietly:
‘You all heard what my son said, and I need not ask you to aid me in carrying out his wish.—Pass the wine, Mr Crowell.’
And so the crowd of young people who had been invited to the ‘little dance’ had no hint of the accident to mar their pleasure. Outside, the brilliant light shining through the canvas of the marquee contended for precedence with the ruddy harvest-moon. Inside, the place was like an illuminated hall of flowers and plants. Sam Culver and Pansy with assistants had been at work for two days here. The dresses, the wreaths, the feathers, the jewels of the girls and matrons, with their faces brightened by the excitement of the moment, formed a living kaleidoscope, as they moved and mingled in the dance or promenade. The strains of the band were heard in the village; and little groups of village lads and maidens hung around the gates of Ringsford to listen to the music.
‘I suppose I must be Phil’s deputy for a time here as well as in the house,’ said Coutts in his suavest manner to Madge. ‘I hope you don’t mind very much?’
‘I do mind a great deal,’ she answered with a frankness which would have been rude in any one else, and yet in her appeared to be the kindliest answer to his question. ‘But I suppose I must go through the first quadrille.’
And reluctantly she did so. When it was over, and Coutts would fain have retained his position as deputy, she said:
‘Will you take me to Mr Hadleigh, please? He is there speaking to the vicar, near the entrance.’
Mr Hadleigh advanced to meet them, and she, relinquishing the arm of Coutts, took that of his father.