CHAPTER XLII.
At last, the ladies rose to leave the table.
“As soon, Mrs. Carter, as the gentlemen have had a cigar or so,” said Mr. Whacker, “we shall have the honor of joining the ladies in the parlor and of escorting you to the Hall, where we shall have some music.”
“But when he hears her play!” thought Mary, as she left the room, arm in arm with her dreaded rival.
“I drink your health,” cried the Herr, dropping down into his chair as soon as the ladies had left the room. “I drink your very good health,” said he, filling the Don’s glass. Of course he pronounced the words after his own fashion.
One would err who supposed that Herr Waldteufel felt any unusual anxiety as to the physical condition of his neighbor. A decanter of sherry invariably wrought in his responsive mind a general but quite impartial interest in the well-being of all his friends. But on this occasion Mr. Whacker was particularly anxious that some limit should be put to the expression of that solicitude; and he checked with a glance the zealous hospitality of Uncle Dick, who was about to replenish the nearly exhausted decanters.
For this was to be a field day over at the Hall. There was to be a quintet,—think of that,—and a pint or so more sherry might disable the ’cello.
My grandfather had been looking forward to this glorious occasion with nervous joy. It had been several years since he had taken part in so august a performance; and before the first cigars were half burned out he had begun to fidget and look at his watch. Charley, therefore, was not long in proposing a move.
“Now, ladies,” said my grandfather, on reaching the parlor, “I, for one, cannot understand how it is that there are some people who don’t love music; but there are such people, and very good people they are, too. Now, this is Liberty Hall, and every one must do as he pleases. We are going to make some music; but no one need go with us who prefers remaining here. If there are any couples, for instance,”—and Mr. Whacker raised his eyes to the ceiling—“who have softer things to say than any our instruments can produce” (Jones and his girl looked unconscious), “let them remain and say them. Here is the parlor, there is the dining room; arrange yourselves as you would. And now, Mrs. Poythress, will you take my arm and lead the way?”
Jones and Jones’s girl were the first to move, and we were soon on our way across the lawn; while dark cohorts brought up the rear and covered the flanks of the merry column.