‘He wasn’t hurt, was he?’
‘A trifle scratched. I hope no lasting scars.’
‘Lord, that’s bad!’ Martin said. ‘I daresay you don’t want my advice, but if I were you I would apply hot fomentations. They may bring up his legs like bladders, but that won’t last, and ten to one you’ll never see a mark once the cuts have healed.’
‘I agree with you, and it is being done.’
The Dowager broke in at this point to favour the company with a recital of all the tosses which the Earl’s father had taken, coupled with an account of her own sentiments upon these occasions, and some recollections of rattling falls suffered by her dear Papa, a very bruising rider. ‘Not that my dear father was not an excellent horseman, for I am sure there can never have been a better one,’ she said. ‘I am not fond of the exercise myself, but I daresay I should have ridden very well, had I taken to it, for I should have had the benefit of my father’s teaching. Indeed, I recall to this day many of the maxims which he laid down for my brother’s guidance. “Hold him steady by the head” was one of them; and if he had been alive when Martin broke his collarbone at one of the bullfinches in Ashby Pastures, he would have said, “You should have held him steady by the head.” “Throw your heart over” was another of his sayings, and “Take your own line”, as well, and “Get over the ground if you break your neck”.’
The Earl was standing beside Martin, and said in a soft under-voice: ‘Were you – er – acquainted with your grandfather, Martin?’
‘No, I thank God!’ returned Martin, grinning. ‘I’d be willing to lay you odds he was the kind of fellow who would head a fox!’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t take you!’ Gervase said. ‘There cannot be the least doubt of it!’
It was fortunate that Abney entered the Drawing-room at that moment, to announce dinner, for the sudden crack of laughter which escaped Martin attracted his mother’s attention, and she demanded to be told what it was that had amused him. She did not forget that she desired to be admitted into his confidence, for her mind was of a tenacious order, but by the time she was seated at the foot of the dinner-table, and could repeat her demand, he had had leisure to think of a suitable and an unexceptionable answer.
Twelve
A certain languor, which was felt by everyone except the Dowager, hung over the company. After the bustle and the excitement of the ball, the smaller party seemed flat. Between two of the persons seated at the table there was constraint; others had been provided with food for grave reflection; and only between the Dowager and the Chaplain could conversation have been said to have flourished. From the combined circumstances of being largely impervious to fatigue, and not having exerted herself beyond what was strictly necessary during the past twenty-four hours, the Dowager was not conscious of weariness, but enlivened the dinner-table with several more anecdotes about her father, and a recapitulation of the excellence of the arrangements for the ball, and the pleasure evinced at their entertainment by the guests. In this exercise sh
e was assisted by Mr Clowne, who indefatigably corroborated her statements, laughed heartily at her anecdotes, and generally enacted the role of antistrophe. Her care for his interests had placed Martin beside Marianne at the table, but her absorption in her own conversation prevented her from perceiving that for the first half of dinner, at least, this disposition was not a happy one. Such laboured attempts at engaging Marianne’s attention as were embarked upon by Martin were met by shy, monosyllabic responses, and it was not until Gervase, abandoning Miss Morville to his cousin, began to talk to Marianne, interpolating such leading questions as must draw Martin into the conversation, that the ice between these old acquaintances melted. It was with relief that those who knew him best realized that Martin’s mood was chastened. He seemed to have laid aside his sulks, and to be determined to conduct himself, even towards his brother, with a civility that bordered on affability. His manner to Marianne could hardly have been bettered, for he behaved as though he had forgotten the events of the previous evening. A lucky remark of the Earl’s enabled him to say to Marianne: ‘Do you remember – ?’ She did remember, and in unexceptionable reminiscence was able to see in him again her favourite playfellow. Her constraint became noticeably less; and by the time the dessert was set upon the table she was chatting freely to Martin, and the Earl was able to turn back to Miss Morville. Since the Dowager had applied to Theo for the details of a very dull story with which she was boring the Viscount, she had been neglected for several minutes, but she met the Earl’s look with a warm smile of approval.
‘I do beg your pardon!’ Gervase said, in an under-voice.
‘Indeed, you need not!’ she returned, in the same tone. ‘It was very well done of you.’
When the ladies left the room, Martin did not abate his goodhumour. The cloth was removed from the table, the port and the madeira set upon it, while he conversed with the Viscount; and when the Viscount was drawn into a three-cornered discussion with Theo and Mr Clowne, he only hesitated for a moment before changing his seat for the vacant one beside his brother.
The Earl regarded him pensively over the top of his wineglass, but he said nothing. Martin raised his eyes, as though forcing himself to look him boldly in the face, and said: ‘St Erth, I – Well – What I mean is –’
‘Yes?’ said Gervase encouragingly.
‘It’s only – St Erth, I shouldn’t have done it, of course! I didn’t mean to, only –’
‘Shouldn’t have done what?’
‘Last night – Marianne!’
‘Oh!’
‘The thing was, you see –’
‘You need not tell me,’ Gervase interrupted, smiling. ‘I know very well what the thing was.’
He saw the flicker of fire in the eyes so swiftly meeting his own at these words. He held them in a steady regard, and after a moment they fell, and Martin uttered a self-conscious laugh, and said: ‘Yes – I suppose! The thing is, ought I, do you think, to say anything to her?’
‘On that subject? By no means! Let it go!’
Martin looked relieved. He drained his glass, found the decanter at his elbow, and refilled the glass, saying: ‘Then you don’t think I should beg her pardon?’
‘You would only cause her embarrassment.’
‘I daresay you may be right.’ Martin sipped his wine reflectively, and set his glass down again. ‘I wish that gray of yours had not cut his legs!’ he said suddenly. ‘The most curst mischance! Can’t think how he came to do so!’
‘Or how I came to be thrown so ignominiously?’ suggested the Earl, watching him.
‘Oh, there’s nothing in that! Everyone takes a stupid toss or so in his life! But your gray is a capital hunter! I would not have had him scar himself for a fortune!’