Sir George Tressady, vol 1 | Page 6

you?"
"Why should I? I'm proud of it."
Then he looked round him. The rest of the party--not without whispers
and smothered laughter--had withdrawn from them. Some of the ladies
had already gone up to dress. The men had wandered away into a little
library and smoking-room which opened on the hall. Only the squire,
safe in a capacious armchair a little way off, was absorbed in a local
paper and the last humours of the election.
Satisfied with his glance, Tressady put his hands into his pockets, and
leant back against the fireplace, in a way to give himself fuller
command of Miss Sewell's countenance.
"Do you never give your friends any better sympathy than you have
given me in this affair, Miss Sewell?" he said suddenly, as their eyes
met.
She made a little face.
"Why, I've been an angel!" she said, poking at a prominent log with her
foot.
George laughed.
"Then our ideas of angels agree no better than the rest. Why didn't you
come and hear the poll declared, after promising me you would be
there?"
"Because I had a headache, Sir George."
He responded with a little inclination, as though ceremoniously
accepting her statement.
"May I ask at what time your headache began?"
"Let me see," she said, laughing; "I think it was directly after

breakfast."
"Yes. It declared itself, if I remember right, immediately after certain
remarks of mine about a Captain Addison?"
He looked straight before him, with a detached air.
"Yes," said Letty, thoughtfully; "it was a curious coincidence, wasn't
it?"
There was a moment's silence. Then she broke into infectious laughter.
"Don't you know," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder--"don't you
know that you're a most foolish and wasteful person? We get along
capitally, you and I--we've had a rattling time all this week--and then
you will go and make uncivil remarks about my friends--in public, too!
You actually think I'm going to let you tell Aunt Watton how to
manage me! You get me into no end of a fuss--it'll take me weeks to
undo the mischief you've been making--and then you expect me to take
it like a lamb! Now, do I look like a lamb?"
All this time she was holding him tight by the arm, and her dimpled
face, alive with mirth and malice, was so close to his that a moment's
wild impulse flashed through him to kiss her there and then. But the
impulse passed. He and Letty Sewell had known each other for about
three weeks. They were not engaged--far from it. And these--the hand
on the arm, and the rest--were Letty Sewell's ways.
Instead of kissing her, then, he scanned her deliberately.
"I never saw anyone more plainly given over to obstinacy and pride,"
he said quietly; "I told you some plain facts about the character of a
man whom I know, and you don't, whereupon you sulk all day, you
break all your promises about coming to Malford, and when I come
back you call me names."
She raised her eyebrows and withdrew her hand.

"Well, it's plain, isn't it? that I must have been in a great rage. It was
very dull upstairs, though I did write reams to my best friend all about
you--a very candid account--I shall have to soften it down. By the way,
are you ever going to dress for dinner?"
George started, and looked at his watch.
"Are we alone? Is anyone coming from outside?"
"Only a few 'locals,' just to celebrate the occasion. I know the
clergyman's wife's coming, for she told me she had been copying one
of my frocks, and wanted me to tell her what I thought."
George laughed.
"Poor lady!"
"I don't think I shall be nice to her," said Letty, playing with a flower on
the mantelpiece. "Dowdy people make me feel wicked. Well, I must
dress."
It was now his turn to lay a detaining hand.
"Are you sorry?" he said, bending over to her. His bright grey eyes had
shaken off fatigue.
"For what? Because you got in?"
Her face overflowed with laughter. He let her go. She linked her arm in
that of the daughter of the house--Miss Florence Watton--who was
crossing the hall at the moment, and the two went upstairs together, she
throwing back one triumphant glance at him from the landing.
George stood watching them till they disappeared. His expression was
neither soft nor angry. There was in it a mocking self-possession which
showed that he too had been playing a part--mingled, perhaps, with a
certain perplexity.

CHAPTER II
George Tressady came down very late for dinner, and found his hostess
on the verge of annoyance. Mrs. Watton was a large, commanding
woman, who seldom thought it worth while to disguise any disapproval
she