“You want to present Madame Latour to Fulminster society, Everard, with whatever advantages may be attached to my chaperonage?”
“Precisely,” said the Canon.
“Well, I will send the invitation. But will she accept it?”
“I ’ll see about that,” he replied briskly. “I am deeply indebted to you, Emmeline.”
She smiled, shook hands and followed him, with a word of parting, to the door. Then as soon as it was shut upon him, she stamped her foot and walked across the room, with an exclamation of impatience.
“I wonder what kind of a fool he is going to make of himself!”
She soon saw. One is not a woman of sense for nothing. On the eve of the Festival, which was being held for the purpose of raising funds for the restoration of the old Abbey church, of which the Canon was rector, he gave a consecrating dinner-party.
The Bishop of the diocese, who was staying at the Rectory, was there; Sir Joshua and Lady Santyre, and others of the high and solemn world of Fulminster. Yet the Canon, with a high-bred tact, delicately conveyed the impression that Madame Latour was the guest of the evening. Mrs. Winstanley kept eyes and ears on the alert. There was much talk of the Festival. On the morrow the “Elijah” was to be given, with Madame Latour in the contralto part. The Canon was solicitous as to her voice, beamed with pleasure when she offered, in her sweet, simple way to sing to his guests, and stood behind her as she sung, with what, in Mrs. Winstanley’s eyes, appeared an exasperating expression of fatuity.
A little later in the evening, a young girl, Sophia Wilmington, went up to him with the charming insolence of youth.
“Why did n’t you tell us she was so sweet? I ’ve fallen head over ears in love with her.” The Canon smiled, bowed, and delivered himself of this extraordinary speech:—