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Updated: May 24, 2025
Cottrell is a very idle man with a very numerous acquaintance. Somebody wanted a hack, and he has forgotten who." If Lady Mary's suspicions had been lulled to sleep during luncheon, they had been now most thoroughly reawakened. She, like her daughter, had overheard the conversation between Sylla and Lionel upon the latter's first arrival.
But a glance on the foredeck of the steamer showed, mingling amongst the fashionable crowd, Spanish singers with their guitars, Tyrolese jödelers, and some two or three popular comedians, who at times consent to dispel the dreariness of an evening party. Mr. Cottrell even whispered to Mrs. Wriothesley that he should not be at all surprised if the thing was a real success.
Cottrell in the course of the next two or three days, she dropped him a line of inquiry as to the composition of this coming water party, and concluded her note with "Blanche is most provoking. She has evidently had some tiff with Lionel Beauchamp. She is very resolute about not going to this affair hints mysteriously she wants to know something, and declines to say what.
Just the people in the house, you know, and the rector's daughters, nice pleasant unaffected girls, who, though not plain " "Cannot be counted dangerous," interposed Cottrell. "I understand. I congratulate you on your diplomacy, Lady Mary. By the way, who is your rector?" "The Rev. Austin Chipchase.
"Ladies and gentlemen not intending to assist in this representation are requested to withdraw," retorted Jim, "by order of the stage-manager, James Bloxam." "Come along, Mr. Cottrell: he has right on his side; the audience have certainly no business at the rehearsals." And, followed by the younger Miss Chipchase, Cottrell, and Beauchamp, Blanche crossed towards the door.
The centre is still unoccupied, save for a few late-comers walking quietly across, none of the competitors having so far put in an appearance. "Just the sort of thing to interest you, this, Miss Sylla," exclaimed Pansey Cottrell, after lifting his hat in a comprehensive manner to the whole party. "I know you are passionately fond of horses and have a taste for riding."
And the Squire again looked anxiously round for instructions from his wife; but Pansey Cottrell was now standing between Lady Mary and the card-table, and such inspiration as might be derived from his back was sole response to the inquiry. "Excuse me," said Jim, "we can't have people making up their mind about ball-going on Sundays.
"You know, I am close to Prince's, and the Canadians are going to play a match at La Crosse, which is well worth looking on at; such a pretty game. We can go across and have our afternoon tea at the little tables overlooking the cricket-ground. Everybody will be there." "Mrs. Wriothesley is quite right," interposed Cottrell gravely.
"Who was the shocking old infidel who declared young ladies' headaches were simply heartaches? What mistakes we make by seeing things as we imagine them, instead of as they actually are! I would lay a small wager, for instance, that your low spirits are the result simply of looking through the wrong end of the telescope." "Don't talk nonsense, Mr. Cottrell!
"No," she murmured confidentially to Mr. Cottrell in the drawing-room, "the Fates are against me. I have done all that woman could, but I cannot contend with destiny. It is sad; but whatever with due forethought I propose, destiny, embodied in the shape of that wretch Jim, persistently thwarts. There is no such thing as instilling the slightest tact into him."
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