With the exception of Benjamin Wright, all Old Chester lent itself to
William King's project with very good grace. Mr. Wright said, gruffly,
that a man with one foot in the grave couldn't dance a jig, so he
preferred to stay at home. But the rest of Old Chester said that
although she was so quiet and kept herself to herself so much, Mrs.
Richie was a ladylike person; a little shy, perhaps--or perhaps only
properly hesitant to push her way into society; at any rate it was but
kind to show her some attention.
"Her modesty does her credit," Mrs. Barkley said, "but it will be
gratifying to her to be noticed. I'll come, William, and bring a cake.
And Maria Welwood shall tell Ezra to take three bottles of Catawba."
A little before eight, the company began to assemble, full of such
cordial courtesy that Mrs. Richie's shrinking and awkward coldness
only incited them to heartier friendliness. Dr. King, master of
ceremonies, was ably assisted by his Martha. Mrs. King may have been,
as she told all the guests, very tired, but she could be depended upon
to be efficient. It was she who had engaged Uncle Davy and his fiddle;
she who put the cakes and wine and fruit upon the dining-room table,
already somewhat meagerly arranged by Helena's reluctant hands; she
who bustled about to find card-tables, and induced Tom Dilworth to
sing; "Thou--Thou reignest in this bosom!--"
and got Mr. Ezra Barkley to ask statistical conundrums.
"It's well there is somebody to attend to things," she said in a dry
aside to William. "Mrs. Richie just walks around as if she didn't
belong here. And she lets that child sit up until this hour! I can't
understand how a sensible woman can deliberately spoil a child.--I'd
like to know what that perfume is that she uses," she ended frowning.
It was after supper, while the husband and wife, still oppressed with
their responsibilities, were standing in the doorway looking in upon
the cheerful party now in full enjoyment of its own hospitality, that
Eddy Minns came up behind them and touched William King's arm.
"Dr. King," he said breathlessly, "a telegram, sir. For Mrs. Richie.
And mother said it was bad news!"
"Oh, William!" said Martha; "bad news! Do you know what it is, Eddy?"
"Somebody is dead," the boy said, important and solemn.
"Her brother?" William King asked in dismay.
"Well, not the brother that comes here; his name is Lloyd, mother
said. This is somebody whose name begins with 'F.' Perhaps another
brother. Mother showed the despatch to me; it just said: 'F. died
suddenly yesterday in Paris.' It was signed 'S. R.'"