As she makes this little speech, she never once glances at Halkett (indeed she has taken no notice of him since the commencement of dinner), and purposely treats the whole thing as unworthy of regret. Halkett, contrasting her pretty contrition of the morning with this off-hand dismissal of the matter, is, manlike, thoroughly mystified.
'I am sorry to hear of an accident,' says Uncle Charlie, who holds all good animals dear to his heart.—'Nothing serious, I hope, Frank?'
'A mere scratch,' returns Halkett carelessly.
'That is right. It could not have happened through any great desire on the rider's part to reach her home, as she delayed her return so long we all imagined an elopement had taken place. But there was no such excitement in store for us.—I do think, as your guardian and uncle, Cis, I have every right to know what you and the major were talking of all that time.'
'Politics,' says the major lightly; 'we never talk anything but politics.—Do we, Miss Mordaunt?'
Here Blake dodges to one side of the epergne, that he may the more surely get a full view of Miss Mordaunt's face.
'Never,' replies Cissy emphatically, dodging the epergne in her turn; and then they both laugh.
Here Halkett mutters something under his breath that is so far audible as to rouse the silly young lady by his side into some kind of life. She sighs and uplifts her head.
'Were you speaking to me?' she asks in a somewhat startled tone.
'No—yes—was I?' stammers Halkett, rather shocked. 'I ought to have been, of course; but I have fallen so low as to allow dinner to engross all my attention. Pray, forgive me. It comes entirely of going down to dinner with a middle-aged gourmet.'