But Effie tossed her head rather defiantly. She had not got much change out of Mr. Dumaresq these last few table d’hôte meals.
“I don’t care for Mr. Dumaresq so mighty much. I’m not going to put myself out of the way for him. I don’t think I care so particularly for fashionable young men. I don’t mind him, but I’m not going to put myself out of the way just to amuse him. I think he’s very dull sometimes. I don’t know what you all see in him to make such a fuss!”
Mrs. Cossart rather felt as though she had taken an infinity of trouble for a chimera of her own brain, and when she reached the dining-room her jaw almost dropped. She had pictured the amalgamation which would take place between Effie and the Dumaresqs now that Sheila had gone; but what did she see?
The whole Dumaresq party had moved bodily to the side table, hitherto occupied by the Barretts, who had left to-day. Some new arrivals from the Cape had been given the seats next to the Cossarts—loud-voiced colonials with rather bad manners, who talked amongst themselves and seemed not to desire the acquaintance of their neighbours.
Mrs. Cossart sat in dismayed silence through the meal, and when she went into the drawing-room afterwards, she fancied that all the people looked coldly at her. Nobody spoke either to her or to Effie, and they soon retired to their own rooms.
Was this a sample of what would result from her laborious attempt to promote her daughter’s popularity?
(To be continued.)
