"No: they shall remain, but Moray must not know; and mind this, Lucy,
when they come there is sure to be an offer for the man-servant to stop
and wait. This must be declined."
"Oh, yes, mamma," cried Lucy, excitedly, as she began to imagine Sir
John's footman being witness of the shifts made in re-washing plates,
and forks, and spoons.
"We must submit to the insult, I suppose. I cannot resent it for
Moray's sake. They are his guests, and must be treated with respect."
In due time Sir John and Glynne, with Rolph and the major, arrived, and
were heartily welcomed by Moray, who seemed to have thrown off his quiet
thoughtfulness of manner, and to be striving to set the visitors at
their ease. So warm and hearty, too, were Sir John and the major, that
Lucy brightened; and had Rolph taken another tone, and Mrs Alleyne been
satisfied with doing all that lay in her power to make her visitors
welcome, leaving the rest, all would have gone well. But, in face of
the stern, calm dignity of mien which she displayed, it was impossible
for Sir John to adopt his easy-going sociability. In fact, between
them, Mrs Alleyne and Rolph spoiled the dinner.
It was not by any means the greatest mistake that Mrs Alleyne had ever
made in her life, but it was a serious one all the same, to attempt a
regular society dinner in the face of so many difficulties. Poor woman:
she felt that it was her duty to show Sir John that she was a lady, and
understood the social amenities of life.
The consequence was that, having attempted too much, all went wrong:
Eliza got into the most horrible tangles, and half-a-dozen times over,
Sir John wished they had had a good Southdown leg of mutton, vegetables,
and a pudding, and nothing else.
But he did not have his wish--for there was soup that was not good;
soles that had become torn and tattered in the extraction from the
frying-pan; veal cutlets, whose golden egging and crumbing had been in
vain, for this coating had dissolved apparently into the sauce. The
other _entree_ emitted an odour which made the major hungry, being a
curried chicken; but, alas! the rice was in the condition known by
schoolboys as "mosh-posh." Then came a sirloin of beef and a pair of
boiled fowls, with an intervening tongue and white sauce--at least the
sauce should have been white, and the chickens should have been young--
while what kind of conscience the butcher possessed who defrauded Mrs
Alleyne by sending her in that sirloin of beef, with the announcement
that it was prime, it is impossible to say.
The table looked bright and pretty with its fine white cloth, bright
flowers and fruit, but the dinner itself was a series of miserable
failures, through all of which Mrs Alleyne sat, stern, and with a fixed
smile upon her countenance. Moray and Glynne were serenely unconscious,
eating what was before them, but with their thoughts and conversation
far away amongst the stars. Sir John and the major, with the most
chivalrous courtesy, ignored everything, and kept up the heartiest of
conversation; while Rolph, who was in a furious temper at having been
obliged to come, fixed his glass in his eye and stolidly stared when he
did not sneer.
It was poor Lucy upon whom the burden of the dinner cares fell, and she
suffered a martyrdom. Oldroyd saw that she was troubled, but did not
fully realise the cause, while the poor girl shivered and shrank, and
turned now hot, now cold, as she read Rolph's contempt for the miserable
fare.
"Yes," said the Major to himself, "it's a mistake. She meant well, poor
woman, but if she had given us a well-cooked steak how much better it
would have been."
Mrs Alleyne, behind her mask of smiles, also noted how Rolph's eye-glass
was directed at the various dishes, and how his plate went away, time
after time, with the viands scarcely tasted. She hated him with a
bitter hatred, and felt full of rejoicing to see his annoyance with
Glynne, whose calm, handsome face lit up and grew animated when Alleyne
spoke to her, answering questions, questioning her in return, and
telling her of his work during the past few days.
The meal went on very slowly, and such success as attended it was due to
Sir John and the major, the former devoting himself to his hostess,
while the latter relieved poor little Lucy's breast of some of its
burden of trouble.
"Ah," he said once, out of sheer kindness, just after Rolph had laughed
silently at a grievous mistake made by Eliza, who, in a violent
perspiration with work and excitement, had dropped a dish in the second
course, breaking it, and spreading a too tremulous cabinet pudding and
its sauce upon the well--worn carpet. "Ah, a capital dinner, Miss
Alleyne, only wanted one dish to have made it complete."
"How can you be so unkind, Major Day!" said Lucy, in a low, choking
voice; "the poor girl is so unused to company, and she could not help
it."
Major Day looked petrified. He had advanced his remark like a squadron
to cover the rout of the cabinet pudding, and he was astounded by Lucy's
flank movement, as she took his remark to refer to the maid.
"My dear child," he stammered, "you mistake me."
Poor Lucy could not contain herself. The vexations of the whole dinner
which had been gathering within her now burst forth; and though she
spoke to him in an undertone, her face was crimson, and it was all she
could do to keep from bursting into a flood of tears.
"It is so unkind of you," continued Lucy; "we are not used to having
company. Moray did not think how difficult it would be for us to make
proper preparations, and it is not our fault that everything is so bad."
"My dear child!" whispered the major again.
"You need not have added to my misery by calling it a capital dinner,
and alluding to the dish."
Fortunately Sir John was chatting loudly to Mrs Alleyne, Oldroyd was in
a warm argument with Rolph on the subject of training, and Alleyne was
holding Glynne's attention by describing to her the theory that the
stars were in all probability suns with planets revolving round them, as
we do about our own giver of warmth and light. Hence, then, the major's
little interlude with Lucy was unnoticed, and Eliza was able to remove
the evidences of the disaster with a dustpan and brush.
"My dear Miss Alleyne, give me credit for being an officer and a
gentleman," said the major, quietly; "the dish I alluded to was one of
some choice fungi, such as we discover for ourselves in the woods and
fields. I meant nothing else--believe me."
Lucy darted a grateful look in his eyes, and followed it up with a
smile, which sent a peculiar little sting into Oldroyd's breast.
"For," the latter argued with himself, "elderly gentlemen do sometimes
manage to exercise a great deal of influence over the susceptible hearts
of maidens, and Major Day is a smart, attractive, old man."
His attention was, however, taken up directly by Rolph, who, in a
half-haughty, condescending tone asked him if he had studied training
from its medical and surgical side, nettling him by his manner, and
putting him upon his mettle to demolish his adversary in argument.
"Thank you, major," whispered Lucy. "I might have known--I ought to
have known better."
And then, with the ice broken between herself and her old botanical
tutor and friend, she seemed to jump with girlish eagerness at the
opportunity for lightening her burdened heart.
"Everything has gone so dreadfully," she whispered. "I have been
sitting upon thorns ever since you all came. It has been heartbreaking,
and I shall be so glad when it is all over, and you are gone."
"Tut--tut! you inhospitable little creature," said the major. "For
shame. I shall not. Why, surely my little pupil does not think we came
over here for the sake of the dinner. Fie!--fie!--fie! Brother John,
there, enjoys a crust of bread and cheese and a glass of ale better than
anything; while I, an old campaigner, used, when I was on service, to
think myself very lucky if I got a biscuit and a slice of melon, or a
handful of dates, for a meal."
"But Sir John said you were so particular, and that was why he sent the
fruit."
"My brother John is a gentleman," said the major, smiling. "But there,
there, let me see my little pupil smiling, and at her ease again. Why,
we've come over this evening to feast upon stars and planets, when the
proper time comes. I say, look at Glynne, how bright and eager she
looks. She is not troubling herself about the dinner; nor your brother
neither."
"Moray?" replied Lucy. "Oh, no; nothing troubles him. Poor fellow! If
you gave him only some bran he would eat it and never say a word. It's
throwing nice things away to make them for him."
At last the dessert plates had been placed upon the table, and the fruit
handed round by Eliza, who, in spite of several nods and frowns from Mrs
Alleyne, insisted upon staying to the very last, by way of salving her
conscience for the pudding lapse. Then she finally departed to look
after the coffee; the ladies rose and left the room, and the gentlemen
drew closer together to discuss their wine.
Some cups of capital coffee were brought in, its quality being due to
the fact that Lucy had slipped into the kitchen to make it herself; and
after these had been enjoyed, Sir John drew attention to the object of
their visit. Rolph yawned, and made up his mind to remain behind, to go
into the garden and have a cigar, and Alleyne led the way into the
drawing-room, Glynne rising directly to come and meet them, all
eagerness to enjoy the promised inspection of the observatory.
Volume 1, Chapter XV.