on a clear, cold december evening a month after sydney’s arrival, the grand old castle of st. quentin seemed to have cast off for the moment its habitual sombreness.
sounds of talk and laughter came from the brilliantly-lit dining-room, and the great hall, though empty still, was gay with flowers—great pots of chrysanthemums and arum lilies standing against walls where more than one cannon ball was embedded.
on this night lord st. quentin had elected to give a dinner to his principal tenants, and afterwards to formally present sydney to them as his heir.
it was in vain dr. lorry urged that excitement was bad for his patient; it was in vain sydney begged to be excused the ordeal. the lisles of history had been renowned for their obstinacy in the days when half
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the castle had been shattered by cannon, and the present head of the house was not behind his ancestors in that respect.
“the child has been brought up in a corner,” he said, “but her acknowledgment is going to be as public as i can make it. the tenantry may just as well know something of her before she comes to rule over them.”
so the preparations were made and the guests bidden.
lady frederica groaned a good deal over “st. quentin’s fads,” as she called them. “if he wants to entertain, he might just as well have consulted my pleasure by giving a dinner or a dance to our own set,” she complained; “but to expect me to be enthusiastic over the coming of a lot of old farmers is a little too much!”
sydney did not remember that st. quentin had asked lady frederica to be enthusiastic, or indeed be anything except be there, but of course she did not say so.
lord st. quentin asked his cousin lord braemuir to come down to stay at the castle, and take the head of the table at the dinner.
he was a bluff, hearty-looking man, and sydney took a fancy to him because he spoke
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kindly of her young mother and father, and seemed to think they had been hardly treated.
“i never could see the girl was to blame,” he told st. quentin, when they were alone together. “she was a child and poor frank was another, and if only gwenyth had let well alone, there would have been no harm done. but perhaps it was just as well she did interfere, for you’ve got a charming little girl for your heir, quin, my boy. well, how things turn out! fancy little miss henderson’s child coming to be marchioness of st. quentin!”
the ladies dined in the library with st. quentin that night—lady frederica very magnificent in green and gold, with the verney topazes gleaming in her hair. sydney was all in white, and wore no jewelry. lady frederica was rigid in her views upon the etiquette of dress for girls not yet “out.”
the girl had insensibly improved very much during the past month in style and dignity. she held herself better, and had grown to be considerably less shy. st. quentin watched her with approval as she sat down after dinner beside miss osric, and began a low-toned conversation, which should not interfere with lady frederica’s rather high-pitched stream then flowing over him.
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she was looking very pretty too, he thought; with a colour in her small delicately-cut face and an earnest look in the great grey eyes. “yes, braemuir was right,” he thought to himself, “i have got a very charming heir!”
steps were heard outside, and lord braemuir entered, sending his jolly voice before him. “are you ready, quin, my boy, and you, my dear? yes, dinner went off splendidly, st. quentin, and your farmers quite appreciated it, i assure you. where is the presentation to take place? oh, the great hall, is it? here, shall i wheel your couch in?”
“thanks, ring for dickson, please,” said st. quentin. “will you go and bring the tenants to the hall, braemuir, and then come back here and take in aunt rica. sydney, walk beside my couch, please—don’t be frightened—nobody shall eat you!”
“i am not afraid,” said sydney, drawing herself up, and they went into the great hall together, she walking by his side.
lady frederica followed, on the arm of lord braemuir, and mr. fenton, who had come down for this great occasion, gave his to miss osric.
all eyes were turned upon the girl as she walked slowly up the hall, her colour coming
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and going, but showing otherwise no sign of nervousness. they came to the great fireplace and there stopped. st. quentin raised his head a little, and spoke, his hand on sydney’s.
“well, gentlemen, i’m very glad to see so many of you here to-night. you all know, i think, why i asked for the pleasure of your company when i am incapable of entertaining you myself. it is to present to you my cousin and heir, miss lisle.”
several people cheered at this point, and mr. fenton rubbed his hands together with a little smile. he detected the undercurrent of pride in st. quentin’s voice at having such an heir to present. and he remembered well enough the tone in which the marquess had said, only five weeks ago, “we must have the girl here, i suppose!”
“a good many of you here to-night will remember her father, lord francis,” st. quentin went on.
“yes, my lord,” was heard on many sides.
“well, fate and my motor-car between them, have put the title into miss lisle’s hands,” pursued the marquess. “i shouldn’t altogether wonder if she makes a better hand of the landlord business than i’ve done, when
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her time comes to govern for herself. gentlemen, i have much pleasure in presenting you my heir.”
one sentence in st. quentin’s speech was standing out in sydney’s mind, and repeating itself over in her head, making her deaf for the moment to all else going on around her. “i shouldn’t wonder if she makes a better hand of the landlord business than i’ve done.” then there was something she was called upon to do in this new life, besides moving gracefully and shaking hands in the newest manner! st. quentin had to touch her on the arm to rouse her attention to his next remark.
“will mr. hudder be good enough to come forward? miss lisle will like to shake hands with our oldest tenant. mr. hudder held his farm in my grandfather’s time, sydney,” he explained to her.
sydney did not feel quite certain as to the proper procedure in such a case. she went forward and put her hand in the old farmer’s great brown one. “i am so pleased to meet you, mr. hudder.”
the old man retained the little hand, and slowly shook it up and down. “man and boy i’ve held my farm under the marquesses of st. quentin, miss,” he said solemnly. “they’ve
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been good landlords to me, and i’ve been a good tenant to them. i’m very pleased to see you here among us, miss; though i’ll not deny but that we did hope to see his lordship there, marry and bring up a family at the old place and——”
“bravo!” said a voice from behind the tapestry, and a gentleman, in a faultless overcoat, drew it aside and walked across the polished floor. the old farmer dropped sydney’s hand in some confusion: the new-comer took a comprehensive glance around him through the monocle screwed into one of his rather cold blue eyes. “hope i don’t intrude?” he inquired.
“not at all,” said the castle’s owner, “glad to see you.” but the smile which had been upon his face, as he watched sydney and the old man, disappeared.
the monocle located the couch by the fire: the new visitor went towards it with outstretched hand. “hullo, quin, heard you got smashed up!” he remarked.
“well, now you see for yourself,” was the dry answer.
“awfully sorry—quite cut up about it,” he explained; “thought several times of dropping you a postcard to inquire.”
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“really?” said the marquess; “but one could hardly expect such a literary effort from you. aunt rica, may i introduce bridge, i don’t think you know each other. sir algernon bridge—lady frederica verney—miss lisle. now, my dear chap, you’d better go and dine. braemuir, you’ll look after him, as i can’t, won’t you?”
lord braemuir had been standing apart since the entrance of this fresh guest, with an unusually grave expression on his good-humoured face.
at st. quentin’s words he came slowly forward, and gave his hand to the new-comer, still without a smile. “how are you, bridge?” he said.
