“Yes, yes, but the dinner’ll be getting quite cold if we don’t go in at once. Don’t trouble to change, Mr. Whately, please don’t; but, Muriel, you must go up and do your hair, and if you have time change your frock.”
“Weren’t they lovely?” said Muriel, as she and Roland ran upstairs to wash. “I could have died with laughter.”
“You made me feel a pretty complete fool,” said Roland.
“Well, you made me feel very silly about three-quarters of an hour ago. I deserved a revenge.” And she scampered upstairs ahead of him.
Roland washed quickly and waited for her at the foot of the stairs. He was much too shy to go in alone.
“And they say that women are cowards,” said Muriel, when he confessed it to her. “Come along.”
The quarter of an hour that had elapsed since the sensational disclosure had given the company time to recover its balance, and when Muriel and Roland entered the room, they found that two empty seats were waiting for them side by side.
“Here they are,” said Mr. Marston, “and I hope that they’re thoroughly ashamed of themselves.” He felt himself again after a glass of sherry, and it was an occasion of which a father should make the most. It could only come once and he was prepared to enjoy it to the full. “To think of it, my dear, the difference between this generation and ours. Why, before I got engaged to your mother, Muriel, why, even before I began to court her, I went and asked her father’s permission. I can remember now how frightened I felt. We respected our parents in those days. We always asked their opinions first. But to-day--why, in you burst, late for dinner, and announce with calm effrontery that you’re going to be married. Why, at this rate, there won’t be any engagements at all in a short time; young people will just walk in at the front door and say: ‘We’re married.’”
“Then we are engaged, father, aren’t we?” said Muriel.
Roland was, however, too confused to hold any opinion on the subject.
“Well, if you didn’t actually say so you implied it. At any rate we shall take it that you did.”
Mr. Marston made a theatrical gesture of despair.
It was a jolly evening. Roland and Muriel were the center of congratulations; their healths were drunk; he was called on for a speech, and he fulfilled his duty amid loud applause. Everyone was so pleased, so eager to share their happiness. Beatrice had turned to him a smile of surprised congratulation. Only Gerald held back from the general enthusiasm. Once across the table his eyes met Roland’s, and there was implied in their glance a question. He was the only one of the party who had heard of April, and never, in all their confidences, had there passed between them one word that might have hinted at a growing love between his sister and his friend; it was this that surprised him. Surely Roland would have told him something about it. Roland was not the sort of fellow who kept things to himself. He always wanted to share his pleasures. Gerald would have indeed expected him to come to him for advice, to say: “Old son, what chance do you think I stand in that direction?”--to entrust him with the delicate mission of sounding Muriel’s inclinations. He was surprised and a little hurt.