“Someone dropped a glass, I presume,” replied Ellis calmly.
Miss Pemberton glanced at him suspiciously. She was in a decidedly perverse mood. Seating herself at the piano, she played brilliantly for a quarter of an hour. Quite a number of couples strolled up to the parlor, but Delamere was not among them.
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Miss Pemberton, as she let her fingers fall upon the keys with a discordant crash, after the last note, “I don’t see why we came out here tonight. Let’s go back downstairs.”
Ellis felt despondent. He had done his utmost to serve and to please Miss Pemberton, but was not likely, he foresaw, to derive much benefit from his opportunity. Delamere was evidently as much or more in her thoughts by reason of his absence than if he had been present. If the door should have been opened, and she should see him from the hall upon their return, Ellis could not help it. He took the side next to the door, however, meaning to hurry past the room so that she might not recognize Delamere.
Fortunately the door was closed and all quiet within the room. On the stairway they met the bellboy, rubbing his head with one hand and holding a bottle of seltzer upon a tray in the other. The boy was well enough trained to give no sign of recognition, though Ellis guessed the destination of the bottle.
Ellis hardly knew whether to feel pleased or disappointed at the success of his manoeuvres. He had spared Miss Pemberton some mortification, but he had saved Tom Delamere from merited exposure. Clara ought to know the truth, for her own sake.
On the beach, a few rods away, fires were burning, around which several merry groups had gathered. The smoke went mostly to one side, but a slight whiff came now and then to where Mrs. Carteret sat awaiting them.
“They’re roasting oysters,” said Mrs. Carteret. “I wish you’d bring me some, Mr. Ellis.”
Ellis strolled down to the beach. A large iron plate, with a turned-up rim like a great baking-pan, supported by legs which held it off the ground, was set over a fire built upon the sand. This primitive oven was heaped with small oysters in the shell, taken from the neighboring sound, and hauled up to the hotel by a negro whose pony cart stood near by. A wet coffee-sack of burlaps was spread over the oysters, which, when steamed sufficiently, were opened by a colored man and served gratis to all who cared for them.
Ellis secured a couple of plates of oysters, which he brought to Mrs. Carteret and Clara; they were small, but finely flavored.
Meanwhile Delamere, who possessed a remarkable faculty of recuperation from the effects of drink, had waked from his sleep, and remembering his engagement, had exerted himself to overcome the ravages of the afternoon’s debauch. A dash of cold water braced him up somewhat. A bottle of seltzer and a big cup of strong coffee still further strengthened his nerves.
When Ellis returned to the veranda, after having taken away the plates, Delamere had joined the ladies and was explaining the cause of his absence.
He had been overcome by the heat, he said, while out fishing, and had been lying down ever since. Perhaps he ought to have sent for a doctor, but the fellows had looked after him. He hadn’t sent word to his friends because he hadn’t wished to spoil their evening.
“That was very considerate of you, Tom,” said Mrs. Carteret dryly, “but you ought to have let us know. We have been worrying about you very much. Clara has found the evening dreadfully dull.”
“Indeed, no, sister Olivia,” said the young lady cheerfully, “I’ve been having a lovely time. Mr. Ellis and I have been up in the parlor; I played the piano; and we’ve been eating oysters and having a most delightful time. Won’t you take me down there to the beach, Mr. Ellis? I want to see the fires. Come on.”
“Can’t I go?” asked Tom jealously.
“No, indeed, you mustn’t stir a foot! You must not overtax yourself so soon; it might do you serious injury. Stay here with sister Olivia.”
She took Ellis’s arm with exaggerated cordiality. Delamere glared after them angrily. Ellis did not stop to question her motives, but took the goods the gods provided. With no very great apparent effort, Miss Pemberton became quite friendly, and they strolled along the beach, in sight of the hotel, for nearly half an hour. As they were coming up she asked him abruptly—
“Mr. Ellis, did you know Tom was in the hotel?”
Ellis was looking across the sound, at the lights of a distant steamer which was making her way toward the harbor.
“I wonder,” he said musingly, as though he had not heard her question, “if that is the Ocean Belle?”
“And was he really sick?” she demanded.
“She’s later than usual this trip,” continued Ellis, pursuing his thought. “She was due about five o’clock.”
Miss Pemberton, under cover of the darkness, smiled a fine smile, which foreboded ill for someone. When they joined the party on the piazza, the major had come up and was saying that it was time to go. He had been engaged in conversation, for most of the evening, with General Belmont and several other gentlemen.
“Here comes the general now. Let me see. There are five of us. The general has offered me a seat in his buggy, and Tom can go with you-all.”
The general came up and spoke to the ladies. Tom murmured his thanks; it would enable him to make up a part of the delightful evening he had missed.
When Mrs. Carteret had taken the rear seat, Clara promptly took the place beside her. Ellis and Delamere sat in front. When Delamere, who had offered to drive, took the reins, Ellis saw that his hands were shaking.
“Give me the lines,” he whispered. “Your nerves are unsteady and the road is not well lighted.”
Delamere prudently yielded the reins. He did not like Ellis’s tone, which seemed sneering
