“I used to call you Aunt Stanbury,” said Brooke Burgess to the old lady; “am I to go on doing it now?”
“You may call me what you like,” said Miss Stanbury. “Only—dear me;—I never did see anybody so much altered.” Before she went up to dress herself for dinner, Miss Stanbury was quite restored to her good humour, as Dorothy could perceive.
The dinner passed off well enough. Mr. Gibson, at the head of the table, did, indeed, look very much out of his element, as though he conceived that his position revealed to the outer world those ideas of his in regard to Dorothy, which ought to have been secret for a while longer. There are few men who do not feel ashamed of being paraded before the world as acknowledged suitors, whereas ladies accept the position with something almost of triumph. The lady perhaps regards herself as the successful angler, whereas the gentleman is conscious of some similitude to the unsuccessful fish. Mr. Gibson, though he was not yet gasping in the basket, had some presentiment of this feeling, which made his present seat of honour unpleasant to him. Brooke Burgess, at the other end of the table, was as gay as a lark. Mrs. MacHugh sat on one side of him, and Miss Stanbury on the other, and he laughed at the two old ladies, reminding them of his former doings in Exeter—how he had hunted Mrs. MacHugh’s cat, and had stolen Aunt Stanbury’s best apricot jam, till everybody began to perceive that he was quite a success. Even Sir Peter Mancrudy laughed at his jokes, and Mrs. Powel, from the other side of Sir Peter, stretched her head forward so that she might become one of the gay party.
“There isn’t a word of it true,” said Miss Stanbury. “It’s all pure invention, and a great scandal. I never did such a thing in my life.”
“Didn’t you though?” said Brooke Burgess. “I remember it as well as if it was yesterday, and old Dr. Ball, the prebendary, with the carbuncles on his nose, saw it too.”
“Dr. Ball had no carbuncles on his nose,” said Mrs. MacHugh. “You’ll say next that I have carbuncles on my nose.”
“He had three. I remember each of them quite well, and so does Sir Peter.”
Then everybody laughed; and Martha, who was in the room, knew that Brooke Burgess was a complete success.
In the meantime Mr. Gibson was talking to Dorothy; but Dorothy was endeavouring to listen to the conversation at the other end of the table. “I found it very dirty on the roads today outside the city,” said Mr. Gibson.
“Very dirty,” said Dorothy, looking round at Mr. Burgess as she spoke.
“But the pavement in the High Street was dry enough.”
“Quite dry,” said Dorothy. Then there came a peal of laughter from Mrs. MacHugh and Sir Peter, and Dorothy wondered whether anybody before had ever made those two steady old people laugh after that fashion.
“I should so like to get a drive with you up to the top of Haldon Hill,” said Mr. Gibson. “When the weather gets fine, that is. Mrs. Powel was talking about it.”
“It would be very nice,” said Dorothy.
“You have never seen the view from Haldon Hill yet?” asked Mr. Gibson. But to this question Dorothy could make no answer. Miss Stanbury had lifted one of the tablespoons, as though she was going to strike Mr. Brooke Burgess with the bowl of it. And this during a dinner party! From that moment Dorothy turned herself round, and became one of the listeners to the fun at the other end of the table. Poor Mr. Gibson soon found himself “nowhere.”
“I never saw a man so much altered in my life,” said Mrs. MacHugh, up in the drawing-room. “I don’t remember that he used to be clever.”
“He was a bright boy,” said Miss Stanbury.
“But the Burgesses all used to be such serious, straitlaced people,” said Mrs. MacHugh. “Excellent people,” she added, remembering the source of her friend’s wealth; “but none of them like that.”
“I call him a very handsome man,” said Mrs. Powel. “I suppose he’s not married yet?”
“Oh, dear, no,” said Miss Stanbury. “There’s time enough for him yet.”
“He’ll find plenty here to set their caps at him,” said Mrs. MacHugh.
“He’s a little old for my girls,” said Mrs. Powel, laughing. Mrs. Powel was the happy mother of four daughters, of whom the eldest was only twelve.
“There are others who are more forward,” said Mrs. MacHugh. “What a chance it would be for dear Arabella French!”
“Heaven forbid!” said Miss Stanbury.
“And then poor Mr. Gibson wouldn’t be any longer like the donkey between two bundles of hay,” said Mrs. Powel. Dorothy was quite determined that she would never marry a man who was like a donkey between two bundles of hay.
When the gentlemen came up into the drawing-room, Dorothy was seated behind the urn and tea-things at a large table, in such a position as to be approached only at one side. There was one chair at her left hand, but at her right hand there was no room for a seat—only room for some civil gentleman to take away full cups and bring them back empty. Dorothy was not sufficiently ready-witted to see the danger of this position till Mr. Gibson had seated himself in the chair. Then it did seem cruel to her that she should be thus besieged for the rest of the evening as she had been also at dinner. While the tea was being consumed Mr. Gibson assisted at the service, asking ladies whether they would have cake or bread and butter; but when all that was over Dorothy was still in her prison, and Mr. Gibson was still the jailer
