The Hoyden Part 30

"Well, of course," says Mrs. Chichester. "Such nonsense condemning it! As if anybody worried about impropriety nowadays. Why, it has gone out of fas.h.i.+on. It is an exploded essence. n.o.body gives it a thought."

"That is _fatally true,"_ says old Miss Gower in a sepulchral tone.

She has been sitting in a corner near them, knitting sedulously until now. But now she uplifts her voice. She uplifts her eyes, too, and fixes them on Mrs. Chichester the frivolous. "Do your own words never make you s.h.i.+ver?" asks she austerely.

"Never," gaily; "I often wish they would in warm weather."

Miss Gower uprears herself.

"Be careful, woman! be careful!" says she gloomily. "There is a warmer climate in store for some of us than has been ever known on earth!"

She turns aside abruptly, and strides from the room.

Randal Gower gives way to mirth, and so do most of the others. Mrs.

Chichester, it is true, laughs a little, but t.i.ta can see that the laughter is somewhat forced.

She goes quickly up to her and slips her hand into hers.

"Don't mind her," says she. "As if a little word here and there would count, when one has a good heart, and I know you have one. We shall all go to heaven, I think, don't you? Don't mind what she hinted about--about that other place, you know."

"Eh?" says Mrs. Chichester, staring at her as if astonished.

"I _saw_ you didn't like it," says t.i.ta.

"Well, I didn't," says Mrs. Chichester, pouting.

"No, of course, one wouldn't."

"One wouldn't what?"

"Like to be told that one would have to go to--_you_ know."

"Oh, I see," says Mrs. Chichester, with some disgust. "Is that what you mean? Oh, I shouldn't care a fig about that!"

"About what, then?" asks t.i.ta anxiously.

"Well, I didn't like to be called _a woman!"_ says Mrs. Chichester, frowning.

"Oh!" says t.i.ta.

"Lady Rylton, where are you? You said you were going to get up blind man's buff," cries someone at this moment.

"Yes, yes, indeed. Maurice, will you come and help us?" says t.i.ta, seeing her husband, and going to him gladly, as a means of getting out of her ridiculous interview with Mrs. Chichester, which has begun to border on burlesque.

"Certainly," says Sir Maurice; he speaks rapidly, eagerly, as if desirous of showing himself devoted to any project of hers.

"Well, then, come on--come on," cries she, gaily beckoning to her guests right and left, and carrying them off, a merry train, to the ball-room.

"Now, who'll be blinded first?" asks Mr. Gower, who has evidently const.i.tuted himself Master of the Ceremonies.

"You!" cries Miss Hescott.

"Not at all. There is only one fair way of arranging that," says t.i.ta. "I'll show you. Now," turning to her husband, "make them all catch hands, Maurice--all in a ring, don't you know--and I'll show you."

They all catch hands; there is a slight tussle between Captain Marryatt and Mr. Gower (who is nothing if not a born nuisance wherever he goes), as to which of them is to take Mrs. Chichester's right hand. This, providentially, is arranged by Mr. Gower's giving in, and consenting on a grimace from her to take her _left_ hand.

Not that he wants it. Tom Hescott has shown himself desirous of taking t.i.ta's small fingers into his possession for the time being, at all events--a fact pointed out to Rylton by Mrs. Bethune with a low, amused little laugh; but t.i.ta had told him to go away, as she couldn't give her hand to _anybody_ for a moment, as she was going to have the conduct of the affair.

"Now, are you all ready?" asks she, and seeing them standing in a circle, hands entwined, she runs suddenly to Maurice, disengages his hand from Mrs. Bethune's with a little airy grace, gives her right hand to the latter, and the left to Maurice, and, having so joined the broken ring again, leans forward.

"Now," cries she gaily, her lovely little face lit up with excitement, "who ever the _last_ word comes to, he or she will have to hunt us! See?"

She takes her right hand from Mrs. Bethune's, that she may point her little forefinger at each one in succession, and begins her incantation with Mr. Gower, who is directly opposite to her, nodding her head at each mystic word; and, indeed, so far as the beginning of it goes, this strange chant of hers mystifies everybody--everybody except Tom Hescott, who has played this game with her before, in the not so very distant past--Tom Hescott, who is now gazing at her with a most profound regard, all his soul in his eyes, oblivious of the fact that two pairs of eyes, at all events, are regarding _him _very curiously.

"Hena, Dena, Dina, Dus."

"Good heavens!" interrupts Mr. Gower, with extravagant admiration.

"What command of language! I"--to miss Hescott--"didn't know she was a linguist, did you?"

"Calto, Wheela, Kila, Kus."

"Oh, I say!" murmurs Mr. Gower faintly. "It can't be right, can it, to say 'cuss words' at us like that? Oh, really, Rylton, _would _you mind if I retired?"

"Hot pan, Mustard, Jan, Tiddledum, taddledum, twenty-one, You raise up the latch, and walk straight out."

The last word falls on Tom Hescott. "Out" comes to him.

"There, Tom! You must be blindfolded," says t.i.ta delightfully.

"Who's got a _big_ handkerchief?"

"I wouldn't stand that, Hescott, if I were you," says Colonel Neilson, laughing.

"What is it?" asks Tom, who is a little abstracted.

"Nothing much," says Mrs. Chichester mischievously. "Except that Lady Rylton says your head is so big that she has sent to the housekeeper for a young sheet to tie it up in."

Hescott smiles. He can well afford his smile, his head being wonderfully handsome, not too small, but slender and beautifully formed.

"Give me yours," says t.i.ta, thrusting her hand into her husband's pocket and pulling out his handkerchief.

The little familiar action sends a sharp pang through Mrs. Bethune's heart.

"Now, Tom, come and be decorated," cries t.i.ta. Hescott advances to her, and stops as if waiting. "Ah!" cries she, "do you imagine I could ever get up there!"

She raises both her arms to their fullest height, which hardly brings her pretty hands even to a level with his forehead. She stands so for a moment, laughing at him through the gracefully uplifted arms. It is a coquettish gesture, though certainly innocent, and n.o.body, perhaps, would have thought anything of it but for the quick, bright light that springs into Hescott's eyes. So she might stand if she were about to fling her arms around his neck.

"Down on your knees," cries t.i.ta, giving herself the airs of a little queen.

Hescott drops silently on to them. He has never once removed his gaze from hers. Such a strange gaze! One or two of the men present grow amused, all the women interested. Margaret Knollys makes an involuntary step forward, and then checks herself.