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On entering the house with him, shortly afterwards, what a contrast was present on the one hand the ludicrous the horrible on the other. "Close within the doorway lay the dead body of Mr. Heywood " "The dead body of Mr. Heywood!" exclaimed Elmsley, starting from his chair in almost dismay at the intelligence. "How comes it, Ronayne, that you have never spoken of this before?"
Elmsley, who had accompanied them, having returned home, that Ronayne and his betrothed sat in the little summer-house already described. Mrs.
Nay, do not look offended. Your tea and coffee are always of the best, but they do not just now, suit my taste. Miss Heywood, how do you do this morning? How is your gentle mother? I have called expressly to see her. Elmsley, where is that runaway, Ronayne?" And where indeed was he? They had not walked more than three or four paces, when Mrs.
Come, come, thank Headley for his refusal. When you sit down to-morrow morning, as I intend you shall, to a luxurious breakfast of tea, coffee, fried venison, and buckwheat-cakes, you will find no reason to complain of his adherence to military prudence." "Elmsley," returned his friend, seriously, "I can have no disguise from you at such a moment.
"I might get my feet entangled in the petticoats." "Not you, Jan," said Sir Edmund, laughing. "I should risk that, if a lady asked me." "She'd not care to dance with me," returned Jan, looking at Mary Elmsley. "She only says it out of good-nature." "No, Jan, I don't think I do," frankly avowed Lady Mary. "I should like to dance with you."
Whilst the latter, according to custom, mixed the punch, which when made was pronounced to be his chef d'oeuvre, Elmsley amused himself with cutting up the tobacco, and filling the pipes. The ensign, taking advantage of their occupation, indulged himself in a reverie that lasted until the beverage had been declared ready.
Bitterworth, with the Misses West, with Sir Edmund Hautley, with Lord Garle, with the Countess of Elmsley, with all that came in his way. Next he looked round upon a poorer class; and the first hand taken in his was Robin Frost's. By and by he encountered Jan. "Well, Jan, old fellow!" said he, his affection shining out in his earnest, dark-blue eyes, "I am glad to be with you again.
Elmsley," said the captain, who now appeared at the front of his own door, fully dressed for parade, and preparing to issue forth in all the stateliness of command. "The parade is formed, sir," remarked the lieutenant, confusedly, "but I cannot find the officer of the guard." "Sir!" exclaimed Captain Headley. "I cannot find Mr.
"Very true, Mr. Elmsley, I will examine them separately in the orderly-room to see how far their statements agree; yet one question you can answer here, corporal. You say that it is the body of Le Noir, killed by the Indians. Where is Mr. Heywood, then?"
John Massingbird showed himself presentable that day, and had left his pipe at home. In one point Mr. Massingbird proved himself as little given to ceremony as Jan could be. The dinner hour, he had been told, was seven o'clock; and he arrived shortly after six. Lucy Tempest and Mary Elmsley were in the drawing-room.
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