‘Certainly not,’ said Sophy firmly. ‘At least, not if you mean to do so in Spanish.’
Fortunately for the success of the party, Gaston came in at this moment to announce that refreshments were laid out in the dining-room. It was soon discovered that however indolent a hostess the Marquesa might be her maître d’hôtel left nothing to chance. A profusion of succulent foreign dishes awaited the guests, garnished with aspic, or spread with subtle sauces, and served with various light wines. Jellies, trifles, syllabubs, puptons of fruit, and coffee creams in cups of almond paste rounded off what the Marquesa called a lightmarienda. From the sparing way in which Miss Wraxton partook of a few of the delicacies it was not difficult to see that she considered such lavish hospitality vulgar; but Hubert, making a hearty meal, began to think the Marquesa a very good sort of woman after all. When he saw how many coffee creams, Italian rusks, and brandy-cherries she herself consumed, in the most negligent fashion, his manner towards her became tinged with respect bordering on awe.
The repast at an end, Gaston bent to his mistress’s ear, and reminded her that the gate into the wood had been unlocked. She said: ‘Ah, yes! The bluebell wood! So pretty! These young people would like to wander through it,señora, while you and I repose ourselves a little.’
It would never have occurred to Lady Ombersley to suggest a siesta to a visitor, but since she invariably dozed during theafternoon she had no real fault to find with this programme, and accompanied the Marquesa into the drawing-room. Here she at first endeavoured to engage the Marquesa in talk of her brother, but without much success. The Marquesa said: ‘It is not amusing to be a widow, and, besides, I prefer England to Spain, since it is now very impoverished there. But to bemadrustato Sophie –! No, and a thousand times no!’
‘We are all very fond of my dear niece,’ said Lady Ombersley, bristling.
‘I also, but she is too fatiguing. One does not know what next she will do, or, which is worse by far, what she will make one do that one does not wish at all.’
Lady Ombersley found herself quite unable to resist the temptation of indulging in a little gentle malice. ‘My dear ma’am, I am sure my niece could never persuade you to exert yourself in any way disagreeable to you!’
‘But yes!’ said the Marquesa simply. ‘It is plain that you do not know Sophie. To withstand her is much, much more fatiguing still!’
Meanwhile, the subject of this exchange was arranging a flower in Hubert’s button-hole, in the formal garden. Mr Rivenhall had gone off in the direction of the stables, and the four others were wending their way, through the shrubbery, towards the bluebell wood, Mr Fawnhope having been visited by inspiration which only the sight of Cecilia in the wood could, he said, bring to fruition. So far, he had only achieved one line of his poem, but he felt it to be promising. ‘When amidst bluebells my Cecilia treads,’ he murmured.
‘Quite Carolinian!’ remarked Miss Wraxton.
Mr Fawnhope’s verse was at all times derivative, but he liked being told so no better than any other poet, so he took his Cecilia’s hand and would have led her away had not Miss Wraxton been on the alert to prevent just such a happening. With determination she stayed beside the lovers, and presently, by a happy reference to Cowper, succeeded in diverting Mr Fawnhope’s attention from Cecilia to herself. Sir Vincent,finding solace for boredom in amusement at this situation, bided his time, and was presently rewarded. Cecilia, unable to bear a part in the elevated discussion in progress (for she was no great reader), began to drop behind. Sir Vincent fell in beside her, and in a very short space of time coaxed her out of her crossness, and, indeed, out of the wood as well. He said that profound as was his admiration for Miss Wraxton’s intellect he found her conversation oppressive. Woods and blue-stockings, he said, exercised a lowering effect upon his spirits. He thought the ground was damp: certainly unfit walking for a delicately nurtured lady. He took Cecilia instead to inspect the dovecot, and since he was skilled in the art of flirtation, and she was lovely enough to make a little dalliance a pleasant way of whiling away a dull afternoon, they contrived to pass an agreeable hour together.
While all this was going on, Sophy was walking in the shrubbery with Hubert. She had not failed to notice that during the past few days he had swung between exaggeratedly high spirits, and fits of black depression. She had mentioned the matter to Cecilia, but Cecilia had merely said that Hubert had always been moody, and had not seemed to be inclined to think any more about it. But Sophy could not see anyone in the grip of care without instantly wishing to discover the cause, and, if possible, to rectify it. She thought she was now on good enough terms with him to venture to broach the matter to him, and so, it seemed, she was, although he could not be said to confide in her, he did not, as she had been afraid he might, mount upon a high horse. Yes, he confessed, he was a trifle worried, but it was no great matter, and he expected to have put it all behind him in a very few days’ time.
Sophy, who had led the way to a rustic seat, now obliged him to sit down beside her on it. Tracing a pattern on the gravel path with the point of her parasol, she said: ‘If it is money – and it nearly always is: it is the most odious thing! – and you do not care to ask your papa for it, I expect I could help you.’
‘Much good it would be to ask my father!’ said Hubert. ‘He hasn’t a feather to fly with, and what is so dashed unjust, whenyou consider, the only time I ever applied to him he went into a worse rage than Charles does!’
‘Does Charles go into a rage?’
‘Oh, well –! Not, not precisely, but I don’t know but what I’d liefer he did!’ replied Hubert bitterly.
She nodded. ‘Then you don’t wish to approach him. Do pray, tell me!’
‘Certainly not!’ said Hubert, on his dignity. ‘Devilish good of you, Sophy, but I haven’t come tothatyet!’
‘Come to what?’ she demanded.
‘Borrowing money from females, of course! Besides, there’s no need. I shall come about, and before I go up to Oxford again, thank the lord!’
‘How?’
‘Never mind, but it can’t fail! If it does – but it will not! I may have a father who – well, no sense in talking ofhim!And I may have a dashed disagreeable brother, holding so tightly to the purse-strings that you’d think he was a Jew, but fortunately for me I’ve a couple of good friends – whatever Charles may say!’
‘Oh!’ said Sophy, digesting this information. Disagreeable Charles might be, but she was shrewd enough to suspect that if he condemned any of Hubert’s friends there might be much to be said in his defence. ‘Does he dislike your friends?’
Hubert gave a short laugh. ‘Lord, yes! Just because they are knowing ’uns, and kick up a lark every now and then, he proses like a Methodist, and – Here, Sophy, you won’t start talking to Charles, will you?’
‘Of course I shall do no such thing!’ she said indignantly. ‘Why, what a creature you must think me!’
‘No, I don’t, only – Oh, well, it don’t signify! I shall be as merry as a grig in a week’s time, and I don’t mean to get into a fix again, I can tell you!’
She was obliged to be satisfied with this assurance, for he would say no more. After taking another turn round the shrubbery, she left him, and went back to the house.
She found Mr Rivenhall seated under the elm tree on thesouth lawn, with Tina, who was sleeping off a large repast, at his feet. ‘If you want to see a rare picture, Sophy,’ he said, ‘peep in at the drawing-room window! My mother is sound asleep on one sofa, and the Marquesa on another.’
‘Well, if that is their notion of enjoyment I don’t think we should disturb them,’ she replied. ‘It would not be mine, but I dotryto remember that some people like to spend half their days doing nothing at all.’
He made room for her to sit down beside him. ‘No, I fancy idleness is not your besetting sin,’ he agreed. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether it would not be better for the rest of us if it were, but we have agreed not to quarrel today, so I shall not pursue that thought. But, Sophy, what is my uncle about to be marrying that woman?’
