“We’ll see how tomorrow’s selection behave,” answered Maud, with her light laugh.
Vansittart was on the pathway by the lake before eleven o’clock, and he had a bad half-hour of waiting before Eve and her two young sisters appeared at the lodge. He met them near the gates, and they set off for the ice together.
“I hear you only slide,” he said to the little one, who was red as a rose after the long walk through the nipping air. “That won’t do. You must turn over a new leaf today, and learn to skate. I’m going to teach you.”
“That would be lovely,” answered Peggy; “but I’ve got no skates.”
“Oh, but we must borrow a pair or steal a pair. Skates shall be found somehow.”
“Won’t that be jolly?” cried Peggy.
The skates were found at the lodge, where Vansittart coolly appropriated a pair belonging to one of the little girls at the nearest parsonage, and the lesson was given. A lesson was also given to Eve, who skated fairly well, but not so well as Vansittart after one winter’s experience in Norway and another in Vienna. Sefton came strolling on to the ice while they were skating, and tried to monopolize Miss Marchant; but the young lady treated him in rather an offhand manner, greatly to Vansittart’s delight. He hung about the lake for some time talking to one or another of his neighbours, most of the young people of the neighbourhood and a good many of the middle-aged being assembled this fine morning. Towards one o’clock he came up to Eve, who was playing hockey with a number of girls. “Is the Colonel at home?” he asked.
“Yes, father came home last night.”
“Then I’ll walk over and see him. It’s a splendid day for a good long tramp. Let me know when you and your sisters are leaving, that I may walk with you. That road is uncommonly lonely for girls.”
“You are very kind; but we are never afraid of the road. And today we are not going home for ever so long,” added Eve, joyously. “We are going to lunch with Lady Hartley.”
“That alters the case,” said Sefton, prodigiously surprised. “Then I’ll look your father up another day, when I can be of some use as an escort. I dare say Mr. Vansittart will see you home.”
“Haven’t I told you that we want no escort?” exclaimed Eve, impatiently. “One would think there were lions between here and Fernhurst.”
“There are frozen-out gardeners and suchlike, I dare say. Quite as bad as lions,” he answered, as he turned on his heel, jealous and angry.
This fellow was evidently pursuing her with some kind of suit, Vansittart thought. Could he mean to marry her? Could any man with an established position in the county mean to ally himself with Colonel Marchant?
Vansittart had seen the two talking, but had not been near enough to hear what they said. He rejoiced at seeing Sefton walk away discomfited. There was anger in the carriage of his head as he turned away from her. He had been snubbed evidently. But if she snubbed him today, must she not have sometimes encouraged his attentions? He had all the manner of a man to whom certain rights have been given.
They walked up to the house merrily, over the grey, frosty grass, Hetty and Peggy running on in front and racing and wheeling like fox-terriers, so elated by the day’s delights. Peggy had distinguished herself on her borrowed skates. Her teacher declared she was a born skater.
Lady Hartley was sunning herself in the broad portico, waiting to receive her guests. Miss Green had gone out shooting with Sir Hubert and his party. There were only Mrs. Vansittart, Mrs. Baddington, and Mr. Tivett at home.
“Only us two men among all you ladies,” said Tivett, cheerily, as they assembled before the huge wood fire in the drawing-room.
“Hadn’t you better say us one and a half, Gussie?” asked Mrs. Baddington, laughing. “It seems rather absurd to talk of yourself and Mr. Vansittart as if you were of the same weight and substance.”
Mr. Tivett, who was half hidden between Hetty and Peggy, received this attack with his usual amiability. “Never mind weight and substance,” he said; “in moral influence I feel myself a giant.”
“Not without justification,” said Vansittart. “If you were to compare Tivett’s reception at a West End tea-party with mine you would see what a poor thing mere brute force is in an intellectual environment.”
“Oh, they like me,” replied Tivett, modestly, “because I can talk chiffons. I can tell them of the newest ladies’ tailor—some little man who lives in an alley, but has found out the way to cut a habit or a coat, and is going to take the town by storm next season. I can put them up to the newest shade of bronze or auburn hair—the Princess’s shade. I can tell them lots of things, and the dear souls know that I am interested in all that interests them.”
“I never talk to Gussie Tivett without thinking how much nicer a womanly man is than a manly woman,” said Mrs. Baddington, meditatively.
“Ah, that is because the former imitates the superior sex, the latter the inferior,” answered Lady Hartley.
Eve sat in the snug armchair where Vansittart had placed her, silent, but happy, looking about the room and admiring the wonderful mixture of old and new things; furniture that was really old, furniture that cleverly reproduced the antique; trifles and modern inventions of all kinds which make a rich woman’s drawing-room a wonderland for the dwellers in shabby houses; the tall standard lamps of copper or brass or wrought iron, with their fantastical shades; the abundance of flowers and flowering plants and palms, in a season when for the commonalty flowers are not; all those things made an atmosphere of luxury which Colonel Marchant’s daughter needs must feel in sharpest contrast with her own surroundings.
She admired without a pang of envy. She had taken her surroundings for granted a long time ago; and
