At supper the talk was furious
and incessant; Miss Lavinia spoke of a "tipsy-cake," and never
blushed; the Vicar took wine with everybody, and told more stories of
Three-bottle Beauchamp; even Sophia laughed with the rest, although
her heart was aching--for still her poet neglected her and hung with
her brother on the lips of Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys. I saw him bring the
poor girl's cloak in the hall afterwards and receive the most piteous
of glances. I doubt if he noticed it.
Outside, the Admiral's double-bass was still droning the "Dead March"
to Miss Limpenny's laurestinus grove. It was the requiem of our
decorum. Long after I was in bed that night I heard the voice of Mr.
Moggridge trolling down the street--
"An' be jabbers! he'll tache 'em the thrick!"
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys had "taught us the trick," indeed.
CHAPTER X.
OF ONE EXCURSION AND MANY ALARUMS.
"Caleb!" said Mr. Fogo on the morning after Miss Limpenny's party.
"Aye, aye, sir!" Caleb paused in his carpentering to look up.
"It is a lovely morning; I think I will take my easel and go for a
walk. You are sure that the crowds have gone at last?"
"All gone, sir. Paice and quiet at last--as Bill said when he was
left a widow. Do 'ee want me to go 'long wi' 'ee, sir?"
"No, thank you, Caleb.
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