The Revellers

The girl’s face brightened visibly. There was manifest relief in her voice.

“I am so glad we’ve had this talk,” she cried. “I – like Martin, and it did seem so odd that he should have been fighting about Angèle.”

“He knew she ought to be at home, and told her so. Frank interfered, and got punched for his pains. It served him right.”

She helped herself to a large slice of tea-cake.

“I don’t know why I was so silly as to cry – but – I really did think Mrs. Pickering was in awful trouble.”

The vicar laid the paper aside. His innocent-minded daughter had not even given a thought to the vital issues of the affair. He breathed freely, and told her of the funeral. Nevertheless, he had failed to fathom the cause of those red eyes.

A servant clearing the tea-table bethought her of a note which came for Mr. Herbert some two hours earlier. She brought it from the study. It was from Mrs. Saumarez, inviting him and Elsie to luncheon next day.

“Angèle will be delighted,” she wrote, “if Elsie will remain longer than usual. It is dull for children to be cooped within doors during this miserable weather. I am asking Martin Bolland to join us for tea.”

Mr. Herbert was a kind-hearted man, yet he wished most emphatically that Mrs. Saumarez had not proffered this request. To make an excuse for his daughter’s non-attendance would convey a distinct slight which could only be interpreted in one way, after the publicity given to Angèle’s appearance at the inquest. He shirked the ordeal. Bother Angèle!

He glanced covertly at Elsie. All unconscious of the letter’s contents, the girl was looking out ruefully at the leaden sky. There might be no more picnics for weeks.

“Mrs. Saumarez has invited us to luncheon,” he said.

“When?” she asked unconcernedly.

“To-morrow. She wishes you to spend the afternoon with Angèle.”

Elsie turned, with quick animation.

“I don’t care to go,” she said.

“Why not? You know very little about her.”

“She seems to me – curious.”

“Well, I personally don’t regard her as a desirable companion for you. But there is no need to give offense, and it will not hurt you to meet her for an hour or so. Your friend Martin is coming, too.”

“Oh,” she cried, “that makes a great difference.”

Her father laughed.

“Between you, you will surely manage to keep Angèle out of mischief. And, now, my pet, what do you say to an hour with La Fontaine, while I attend to some correspondence? Where are my pupils?”

“They went for a long walk. Mr. Gregory said they would not be home until dinner-time.”

Next morning, for a wonder, the clouds broke, and an autumn sun strove to cheer the scarred and drowned earth. Mrs. Saumarez met her guests with the unobtrusive charm of a skilled hostess. Angèle, demure and shrinking, extended her hand to Elsie with a shy civility that was an exact copy of Elsie’s own attitude.

During luncheon she behaved so charmingly and spoke with such sweet naturalness when any question was addressed to her that Mr. Herbert found himself steadily recasting his unfavorable opinion.

The conversation steered clear of any reference to the inquest. Mrs. Saumarez was a widely read and traveled woman, and versed in the art of agreeable small talk.

Once, in referring to Angèle, she said smilingly:

“I have been somewhat selfish in keeping her with me always. But, now, I have decided that she must go to school. I’ll winter in Brighton, with that object in view.”

“Will you like that?” said the vicar to the child.

“I’ll not like leaving mamma; but school, yes. I feel I want to learn a lot. I suppose Elsie is, oh, so clever?”

She peeped at the other girl under her long eyelashes, and made pretense of being awe-stricken by such eminent scholastic attainments in one of her own age.

“Elsie has learnt a good deal from books, but you have seen much more of the world. If you work hard, you will soon make up the lost ground.”

“I’ll try. I have been trying – all day yesterday! Eh, mamma?”

Mrs. Saumarez sighed.

“I ought to have engaged a governess,” she said. “I cannot teach. I have no patience.”

Mr. Herbert did not know that Angèle’s educational efforts of the preceding day consisted in a smug decorum that irritated her mother exceedingly. This luncheon party had been devised as a relief from Angèle’s burlesque. She termed it “jouer le bon enfant.”

After the meal they strolled into the garden. The storm had played havoc with shrubs and flowers, but the graveled paths were dry, and the lawn was firm, if somewhat damp. Mrs. Saumarez had caused a fine swing to be erected beneath a spreading oak. It held two cushioned seats, and two propelling ropes were attached to a crossbar. It made swinging a luxury, not an exercise.

“By the way,” cried Mrs. Saumarez to the vicar, “do you smoke?”

He pleaded guilty to a pipe.

“Then you can smoke a cigar. Françoise packed a box among my belongings – the remnants of some forgotten festivity in the Savoy. Do try one. If you like it, may I send you the others?”

The vicar discovered that the gift would be costly – nearly forty Villar y Villars, of exquisite flavor.

“Do you know that you are giving me five pounds?” he laughed.

“I never learn the price of these things. I am so glad they are good. You will enjoy them.”

“It tickles a poor country vicar to hear you talk so easily of Lucullian feasts, Mrs. Saumarez. What must the banquet have been, when the cigars cost a half-crown each!”

“Oh, I am not hard up. Colonel Saumarez had only his army pay, but my estates lie near Hamburg, and you know how that port has grown of recent years.”

“Do you never reside there?”

Mrs. Saumarez inclined a pink-lined parasol so that its reflected tint mingled with the rush of color which suffused her face. Had the worthy vicar given a moment’s thought to the matter, he would have known that his companion wished she had bitten her tongue before it wagged so freely.

“I prefer English society to German,” she answered, after a slight pause.

Oddly enough, this statement was literally true, but she dared not qualify it by the explanation that an autocratic government exacted heavy terms for permitting her to draw a large revenue from her Hamburg property.

Blissfully unaware of treading on anyone’s toes, Mr. Herbert pursued the theme.

“In my spare hours I take an interest in law,” he said. “Your marriage made you a British subject. Does German law raise no difficulty as to alien ownership of land and houses?”