"We have company this evening, Raglan. Take care that you're not
late."
"Who's coming?" asked the young man, without looking up.
"Mr. Eustace Glazzard and Miss Glazzard."
"Any one else?"
"Mr. Vialls."
"Then you don't catch me here! I have an appointment at eight."
"I insist upon your dining with us! If you are not at dinner, I will
have your allowance stopped! I mean what I say. Not one penny more
shall you receive until you have learnt to behave yourself!"
"We'll see about that," replied Raglan, with finished coolness; and,
folding his newspaper, he walked off.
Nor did the hour of dinner see his return. The expected guests
arrived; it was not strictly a dinner-party, but, as Mr. Mumbray
described it, "a quiet evening _ong fammil_." The Rev. Scatchard
Vialls carne in at the last moment with perspiring brow, excusing
himself on the ground of professional duties. He was thin, yet
flabby, had a stoop in the shoulders, and walked without noticeably
bending his knees. The crown of his head went to a peak; he had eyes
like a ferret's; his speech was in a high, nasal note. For some
years he had been a widower, a fact which perhaps accounted for his
insinuating manner when he approached Miss Mumbray.
The dinner was portentously dull. Ivy Glazzard scarcely uttered a
syllable. Her uncle exerted himself to shape phrases of perfect
inoffensiveness, addressing now his hostess, now Serena.
Pages:
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135