Sarahs School Friend | Page 7

highest and most beautiful lady in the land.
Sarah kept a silence which might have been considered either sulky or
dignified, and Mrs Clay responded in low tones to her son's remarks.
Mr Clay did not condescend to talk to any of them. His wife he never
considered as a companion or a person to be conversed with, women
being inferior beings in his eyes, and for this reason he did not talk to
Sarah, whom he treated with the same contempt, in spite of being very
proud of her looks and bearing; while George he considered a
nincompoop and weakling, though he was secretly proud, too, of his
fine manners and aristocratic appearance.
And so the four ill-sorted people sat each at a different side of the table,

with a long stretch of gold-decked and flower-laden cloth between
them. 'And a good thing, too, or I think we should fight,' announced
Sarah one day.
Poor Mrs Clay put her hand to her head once or twice, and her
ever-observant son bent towards her with solicitude as he inquired,
'Don't you feel well, mother?'
'It's only the smell of all these flowers; they make me feel faint-like,'
she said.
'It's these lilies; they are too strong for a dining-table; just take them
away, Sykes,' he said to the butler, who happened to be close behind
George Clay's chair.
The man looked hesitatingly at his master, and then at the young man,
and apparently decided to obey the younger one, whom he, like the rest
of the staff, liked and respected, instead of the father, whom he detested,
and who now cried in a voice of thunder, 'Leave 'em alone, I say! I
don't pay for lilies to be thrown away for a woman's whim. Leave 'em
alone.'
'They're cheap enough, and they really never are used for
table-decorating. It must have been a mistake of the maid's. Sykes had
better remove them, if you don't mind,' said George.
Sykes, being of the same opinion, swiftly removed the vase and handed
it to one of the footmen.
Mr Clay, awed by his son's superior knowledge of what was done and
not done (in society, he supposed), remained silent, and at last the
banquet came to an end, and with suspicious alacrity Mrs Clay and her
daughter rose and left the room, followed by George after his usual
murmured apology to his father for not staying with him; for George
Clay was as polite, in an indolent way, to his father as he was to every
one else.
'Phew, I breathe again!' cried Sarah, as she stamped her feet outside the

dining-room door.
'Sh, sh, my dear! Your father might 'ear you. The flowers did make the
air sickly.'
'Flowers! It wasn't the flowers. It was everything. I always think of
Miss Kilmansegg and her "Gold, gold; nothing but gold!" Phew! how I
loathe and detest it all!'
'Draw it mild, Sarah! Even gold has its advantages.'
'It mayn't have to every one's mind. Look what an effeminate creature
it's made of you!' she cried.
George Clay lit a cigarette, with a 'May I?' to his mother, and only
smiled as he leant back in an armchair and puffed contentedly away.
Clearly Sarah was not able to rouse her brother by her criticism.
CHAPTER III.
STALLED OXEN.
'Now then, now then; have I just come in time for fireworks?' said a
man's voice; and Sarah felt a hearty clap of a man's firm hand on her
shoulder.
'Uncle Howroyd!' she cried, as she turned and threw her arms round her
uncle's neck.
'Gently there, my lass; you needn't stifle me if you can't breathe
yourself.--Well, George,' turning to the youth, 'you find life very
exhausting as usual, I suppose. But, I say, you haven't got company, I
hope?' he inquired, as he noticed the elaborate toilettes of the ladies.
'Oh no; we're only dressed for dinner. W'y didn't you come in time for
it, Bill? We've just finished; but you'll find your brother in the
dinin'-room, an' he'll ring for something to be brought back for you;

there's plenty,' said Mrs Clay.
'I don't doubt that; but I've had my dinner, thank you. I'm a plain man,
as you know, Polly, and my dinner isn't such a big affair as yours, by a
long way. And I'm not thirsty either, so I'll leave Mark to drink his
wine in peace and come along with you into the drawing-room--or
salon, is it you call it?' he added, with good-humoured banter.
At that moment the voice of Mr Mark Clay could be heard raised in
angry tones, apparently scolding the butler or some of his assistants,
and Sarah laughed as she said, 'You mean you want to be left in peace.
There's not much peace in that