The White Peacock Part 35

"I came on snow-shoes," said he. "Real Indian,-came from Canada-they're just ripping."

"Oh-Aw-w _do_ go and put them on and show us-_do!-do_ perform for us, Billy dear!" cried Alice.

"Out in the cold and driving sleet-no fear," said he, and he turned to talk to Madie. Alice sat chatting with mother. Soon Tom Smith came, and took a seat next to Marie; and sat quietly looking over his spectacles with his sharp brown eyes, full of scorn for William, full of misgiving for Leslie and Lettie.

Shortly after, George and Emily came in. They were rather nervous. When they had changed their clogs, and Emily had taken off her brown-paper leggings, and he his leather ones, they were not anxious to go into the drawing room. I was surprised-and so was Emily-to see that he had put on dancing shoes.

Emily, ruddy from the cold air, was wearing a wine coloured dress, which suited her luxurious beauty. George's clothes were well made-it was a point on which he was particular, being somewhat self-conscious. He wore a jacket and a dark bow. The other men were in evening dress.

We took them into the drawing-room, where the lamp was not lighted, and the glow of the fire was becoming evident in the dusk. We had taken up the carpet-the floor was all polished-and some of the furniture was taken away-so that the room looked large and ample.

There was general hand shaking, and the newcomers were seated near the fire. First mother talked to them-then the candles were lighted at the piano, and Will played to us. He is an exquisite pianist, full of refinement and poetry. It is astonishing, and it is a fact. Mother went out to attend to the tea, and after a while, Lettie crossed over to Emily and George, and, drawing up a low chair, sat down to talk to them.

Leslie stood in the window bay, looking out on the lawn where the snow grew bluer and bluer and the sky almost purple.

Lettie put her hands on Emily's lap, and said softly, "Look-do you like it?"

"What! engaged? exclaimed Emily.

"I am of age, you see," said Lettie.

"It is a beauty, isn't it. Let me try it on, will you? Yes, I've never had a ring. There, it won't go over my knuckle-no-I thought not.

Aren't my hands red?-it's the cold-yes, it's too small for me. I do like it."

George sat watching the play of the four hands in his sister's lap, two hands moving so white and fascinating in the twilight, the other two rather red, with rather large bones, looking so nervous, almost hysterical. The ring played between the four hands, giving an occasional flash from the twilight or candlelight.

"You must congratulate me," she said, in a very low voice, and two of us knew she spoke to him.

"As, yes," said Emily, "I do."

"And you?" she said, turning to him who was silent.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked.

"Say what you like."

"Sometime, when I've thought about it."

"Cold dinners!" laughed Lettie, awaking Alice's old sarcasm at his slowness.

"What?" he exclaimed, looking up suddenly at her taunt. She knew she was playing false; she put the ring on her finger and went across the room to Leslie, laying her arm over his shoulder, and leaning her head against him, murmuring softly to him. He, poor fellow, was delighted with her, for she did not display her fondness often.

We went in to tea. The yellow shaded lamp shone softly over the table, where Christmas roses spread wide open among some dark-coloured leaves; where the china and silver and the coloured dishes shone delightfully.

We were all very gay and bright; who could be otherwise, seated round a well-laid table, with young company, and the snow outside. George felt awkward when he noticed his hands over the table, but for the rest, we enjoyed ourselves exceedingly.

The conversation veered inevitably to marriage.

"But what have you to say about it, Mr. Smith?" asked little Marie.

"Nothing yet," replied he in his peculiar grating voice. "My marriage is in the una.n.a.lysed solution of the future-when I've done the a.n.a.lysis I'll tell you."

"But what do you think about it-?"

"Do you remember Lettie," said Will Bancroft, "that little red-haired girl who was in our year at college? She has just married old Craven out of Physic's department."

"I wish her joy of it!" said Lettie; "wasn't she an old flame of yours?"

"Among the rest," he replied smiling. "Don't you remember you were one of them; you had your day."

"What a joke that was!" exclaimed Lettie, "we used to go in the arboretum at dinner-time. You lasted half one autumn. Do you remember when we gave a concert, you and I, and Frank Wishaw, in the small lecture theatre?"

"When the Prinny was such an old buck, flattering you," continued Will.

"And that night Wishaw took you to the station-sent old Gettim for a cab and saw you in, large as life-never was such a thing before. Old Wishaw won you with that cab, didn't he?"

"Oh, how I swelled!" cried Lettie. "There were you all at the top of the steps gazing with admiration! But Frank Wishaw was not a nice fellow, though he played the violin beautifully. I never liked his eyes-"

"No," added Will. "He didn't last long, did he?-though long enough to oust me. We had a giddy ripping time in Coll., didn't we?"

"It was not bad," said Lettie. "Rather foolish. I'm afraid I wasted my three years."

"I think," said Leslie, smiling, "you improved the shining hours to great purpose."

It pleased him to think what a flirt she had been, since the flirting had been harmless, and only added to the glory of his final conquest.

George felt very much left out during these reminiscences.

When we had finished tea, we adjourned to the drawing-room. It was in darkness, save for the fire light. The mistletoe had been discovered, and was being appreciated.

"Georgie, Sybil, Sybil, Georgie, come and kiss me," cried Alice.

Will went forward to do her the honour. She ran to me, saying, "Get away, you fat fool-keep on your own preserves. Now Georgie dear, come and kiss me, 'cause you haven't got n.o.body else but me, no y' ave n't.

Do you want to run away, like Georgy-Porgy apple-pie? Shan't cry, sure I shan't, if you are ugly."

She took him and kissed him on either cheek, saying softly, "You shan't be so serious, old boy-buck up, there's a good fellow."

We lighted the lamp, and charades were proposed, Leslie and Lettie, Will and Madie and Alice went out to play. The first scene was an elopement to Gretna Green-with Alice a maid servant, a part that she played wonderfully well as a caricature. It was very noisy, and extremely funny. Leslie was in high spirits. It was remarkable to observe that, as he became more animated, more abundantly energetic, Lettie became quieter. The second scene, which they were playing as excited melodrama, she turned into small tragedy with her bitterness. They went out, and Lettie blew us kisses from the doorway.

"Doesn't she act well?" exclaimed Marie, speaking to Tom.

"Quite realistic," said he.

"She could always play a part well," said mother.

"I should think," said Emily, "she could take a role in life and play up to it."

"I believe she could," mother answered, "there would only be intervals when she would see herself in a mirror acting."

"And what then?" said Marie.