"PETER CAME FORWARD WITH THE COLONEL'S GREATCOAT IN HIS HAND."
The number of courses, the number of strangers, the number of servants, all confused and bewildered me; the only thing I had grasped was that my footman friend was called Peter. It was an ugly name and most unsuitable. Indeed, he appeared to think so himself, for he seldom answered to it. I cannot say my friend shone as a waiter; he was far more in his element relating mountaineering adventures. I suddenly recollected his story of having spent the night on a ledge of rock in a snowstorm. How did a footman get into such a predicament? One can only picture him carrying a picnic basket in the tamest of scenery.
The only other people that interested me besides my travelling companion were Mysie and her friend. I did not wish to act the spy, but a sort of fascination compelled me to look and listen. The gentleman was immensely empressé, yet nobody seemed to notice it but myself.
"Have you heard from your cousin Fred?" I heard him say.
"Oh, no, we never hear anything of him now. I'm afraid he'll never do any good. A rolling stone, you know——"
"I thought he was such a favourite of yours," said Mysie's dark admirer, with a world of meaning in his eyes and voice.
She was conscious of it, and blushed deeply as she replied, "You always made that mistake. I liked him when we were children; he was my cousin and I saw a good deal of him, but now——"
Here my attention was suddenly called to myself, and I heard no more. A pint of rich brown gravy was trickling down over my white silk dress! Mine, do I say? Far worse—Lucy's white silk dress!
My dismay was too great for words. Besides, all words were idle, and I knew the culprit was my friend the new footman, who would be scolded enough as it was. Sir Alexander glared furiously at him and rapped out an oath, while I mopped up the thick greasy fluid with my table-napkin and murmured sweetly that it did not signify in the least.