The Real Charlotte - Edith Somerville [95]
Mrs. Beattie’s entertainments always began with music, and the recognised musicians of Lismoyle were now contributing his or her share in accustomed succession. Hawkins waited until the time came for Mr. Corkran to exhibit his wiry bass, and then definitely took up his position on the green sofa. When he had first come into the room their eyes had met with a thrilling sense of understanding, and since then Francie had felt rather than seen his steady and diplomatic advance in her direction. But somehow, now that he was beside her, they seemed to find little to say to each other.
“I suppose they’re all talking about our running aground yesterday,” he said at last in a low voice. “Does she know anything about it yet?” indicating Miss Mullen with a scarcely perceptible turn of his eye.
“No,” replied Francie in the same lowered voice; “but she will before the evening’s out. Everyone’s quizzing me about it.” She looked at him anxiously as she spoke, and his light eyebrows met in a frown.
“Confound their cheek!” he said angrily; “why don’t you shut them up?”
“I don’t know what to say to them. They only roar laughing at me, and say I’m not born to be drowned anyway.”
“Look here,” said Hawkins impatiently, “what do they do at these shows? Have we got to sit here all the evening?”
“Hush! Look at Charlotte looking at you, and that’s Carrie Beattie just in front of us.”
“I didn’t come here to be wedged into a corner of this little beastly hole all the evening,” he answered rebelliously; “can’t we get out to the stairs or the garden or something?”
“Mercy on us!” exclaimed Francie, half-frightened and half-delighted at his temerity. “Of course we can’t! Why, they’ll be going down to tea now in a minute—after that perhaps—”
“There won’t be any perhaps about it,” said Hawkins, looking at her with an expression that made her blush and tremble, “will there?”
“I don’t know—not if you go away now,” she murmured, “I’m so afraid of Charlotte.”
“I’ve nowhere to go; I only came here to see you.”
Captain Cursiter, at this moment refilling his second pipe, would not have studied the fascinating pages of the Engineer with such a careless rapture had he at all realised how Mr. Hawkins was fulfilling his promises of amendment.
At this juncture, however, the ringing of a bell in the hall notified that tea was ready, and before Hawkins had time for individual action, he found himself swept forward by his hostess, and charged with the task of taking Mrs. Rattray, the doctor’s bride, down to the dining-room. The supply of men did little more than yield a sufficiency for the matrons, and after these had gone forth with due state, Francie found herself in the midst of a throng of young ladies following in the wake of their seniors. As she came down the stairs she was aware of a tall man taking off his coat in a corner of the hall, and before she reached the dining-room door Mr. Lambert’s hand was laid upon her arm.
* * *
CHAPTER XXVI.
Tea at Mrs. Beattie’s parties was a serious meal, and, as a considerable time had elapsed since any of the company, except Mr. Hawkins, had dined, they did full justice to her hospitality. That young gentleman toyed with a plate of raspberries and cream and a cup of coffee, and spasmodically devoted himself to Mrs. Rattray in a way that quite repaid her for occasional lapses of attention. Francie was sitting opposite to him, not at the table, where, indeed, there was no room for her, but on a window-sill, where she was sharing a small table with Mr. Lambert. They were partly screened by the window curtains, but it seemed to Hawkins that Lambert was talking a great deal and that she was eating nothing. Whatever was the subject of their conversation they were looking very serious over it, and, as it progressed, Francie seemed to get more and more behind her window curtain. The general clamour made it impossible for him to hear what they were talking about, and Mrs.