The Adventures of Sally | Page 4

worship her, those who have
watched her with the eye of sedulous affection through the three years
she has spent beneath this roof, though that name," said Mr. Faucitt,
lowering the tone of his address and descending to what might almost
be termed personalities, "may not be familiar to a couple of dud
acrobats who have only been in the place a week-end, thank heaven,
and are off to-morrow to infest some other city. That name," said Mr.

Faucitt, soaring once more to a loftier plane, "is Sally. Our Sally. For
three years our Sally has flitted about this establishment like--I choose
the simile advisedly--like a ray of sunshine. For three years she has
made life for us a brighter, sweeter thing. And now a sudden access of
worldly wealth, happily synchronizing with her twenty-first birthday, is
to remove her from our midst. From our midst, ladies and gentlemen,
but not from our hearts. And I think I may venture to hope, to
prognosticate, that, whatever lofty sphere she may adorn in the future,
to whatever heights in the social world she may soar, she will still
continue to hold a corner in her own golden heart for the comrades of
her Bohemian days. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our hostess, Miss
Sally Nicholas, coupled with the name of our old friend, her brother
Fillmore."
Sally, watching her brother heave himself to his feet as the cheers died
away, felt her heart beat a little faster with anticipation. Fillmore was a
fluent young man, once a power in his college debating society, and it
was for that reason that she had insisted on his coming here tonight.
She had guessed that Mr. Faucitt, the old dear, would say all sorts of
delightful things about her, and she had mistrusted her ability to make a
fitting reply. And it was imperative that a fitting reply should proceed
from someone. She knew Mr. Faucitt so well. He looked on these
occasions rather in the light of scenes from some play; and, sustaining
his own part in them with such polished grace, was certain to be pained
by anything in the nature of an anti-climax after he should have ceased
to take the stage. Eloquent himself, he must be answered with
eloquence, or his whole evening would be spoiled.
Fillmore Nicholas smoothed a wrinkle out of his white waistcoat; and
having rested one podgy hand on the table-cloth and the thumb of the
other in his pocket, glanced down the table with eyes so haughtily
drooping that Sally's fingers closed automatically about her orange, as
she wondered whether even now it might not be a good thing...
It seems to be one of Nature's laws that the most attractive girls should
have the least attractive brothers. Fillmore Nicholas had not worn well.
At the age of seven he had been an extraordinarily beautiful child, but

after that he had gone all to pieces; and now, at the age of twenty-five,
it would be idle to deny that he was something of a mess. For the three
years preceding his twenty-fifth birthday, restricted means and hard
work had kept his figure in check; but with money there had come an
ever-increasing sleekness. He looked as if he fed too often and too well.
All this, however, Sally was prepared to forgive him, if he would only
make a good speech. She could see Mr. Faucitt leaning back in his
chair, all courteous attention. Rolling periods were meat and drink to
the old gentleman.
Fillmore spoke.
"I'm sure," said Fillmore, "you don't want a speech... Very good of you
to drink our health. Thank you."
He sat down.
The effect of these few simple words on the company was marked, but
not in every case identical. To the majority the emotion which they
brought was one of unmixed relief. There had been something so
menacing, so easy and practised, in Fillmore's attitude as he had stood
there that the gloomier-minded had given him at least twenty minutes,
and even the optimists had reckoned that they would be lucky if they
got off with ten. As far as the bulk of the guests were concerned, there
was no grumbling. Fillmore's, to their thinking, had been the ideal
after-dinner speech.
Far different was it with Mr. Maxwell Faucitt. The poor old man was
wearing such an expression of surprise and dismay as he might have
worn had somebody unexpectedly pulled the chair from under him. He
was feeling the sick shock which comes to those who tread on a
non-existent last stair. And Sally, catching sight of his face, uttered a
sharp wordless exclamation as if she had seen a child fall down and
hurt itself in the street. The next moment she had run round the table