"Tu quoque, Blinky? Oh, read the newspapers and let it go at that!"
"Just as you like old chap!" returned his lordship unabashed. "All I meant was--anything Voucher and I can do--of course--"
"You're very good. I'm not dead you know."
"'Not dead, you know'," repeated Major Belwether coming up behind them with his sprightly step; "that reminds me of a good one--" He sat down and lighted a cigar, then, vainly attempting to control his countenance as though roguishly anticipating the treat awaiting them, he began another endless story.
Tradition had hallowed the popular notion that Major Belwether was a wit. The sycophant of the outer world seldom even awaited his first word before bursting into premature mirth. Besides he was very wealthy.
Siward watched him with mixed emotions; the lambent-eyed, sheepy expression had given place to the buck rabbit; his smooth baby-pink skin and downy white side whiskers quivered in premature sympathy with his listener's overwhelming hilarity.
The Page boys, very callow, very much delighted, and a little in awe of such a celebrated personage, laughed heartily. And altogether there was sufficient attention and sufficient laughter to make a very respectable noise. This, being the major's cue for an exit, he rose, one sleek hand raised in sprightly protest as though to shield the invisible ladies, to whose bournes he was bound, from an uproar too masculine and mighty for the ears of such a sex.
"Ass!" muttered Alderdene, getting up and pattering about the room in his big, shiny pumps. "Give me a peg--somebody!"
Mortimer swallowed his brandy, lingered, lifted the decanter, mechanically considering its remaining contents and his own capacity; then: "Bridge, Captain?"
"Certainly," said Captain Voucher briskly.
"I'll go and shoo the major into the gun-room," observed Ferrall--"unless--" looking questioningly at Siward.
"I've a date with your wife," observed that young man, strolling toward the hall.
The Page boys, Rena Bonnesdel, and Eileen Shannon were seated at a card table together, very much engaged with one another, the sealed pack lying neglected on the green cloth, a vast pink box of bon-bons beside it, not neglected.
O'Hara and Quarrier with Marion Page and Mrs. Mortimer were immersed in the game, already stony faced and oblivious to outer sounds.
About the rooms were distributed girls en tête-à-tête, girls eating bon-bons and watching the cards--among them Sylvia Landis, hands loosely clasped behind her, standing at Quarrier's elbow to observe and profit by an expert performance.
As Siward strolled in she raised her dainty head for an instant, smiled in silence, and resumed a study of her fiancé's game.
A moment later, when Quarrier had emerged brilliantly from the mêlée, she looked up again, triumphantly, supposing Siward was lingering somewhere waiting to join her. And she was just a trifle surprised and disappointed to find him nowhere in sight. She had wished him to observe the brilliancy of Mr. Quarrier's game.