"Was Mr. Peck really outside the rope?" Annie asked Dr. Morrell, as they
dropped apart from the others a little.
"I believe he gave his chair to one of the women from the outside," said
the doctor.
Annie moved with him toward Lyra, who was joking with some of the hands.
With all her good-nature, she had the effect of patronising them, as she
stood talking about the play with them in her drawl, which she had got
back to again. They were admiring her, in her dress of the querulous old
nurse, and told her how they never would have known her. But there was an
insincerity in the effusion of some of the more nervous women, and in the
reticence of the others, who were holding back out of self-respect.
She met Annie and Morrell with eager relief. "Well, Annie?"
"Perfect!"
"Well, now, that's very nice; you can't go beyond perfect, you know. I
_did_ do it pretty well, didn't I? Poor Mr. Brandreth! Have you seen
him? You must say something comforting to him. He's really been sacrificed
in this business. You know he wanted Miss Chapley. She would have made a
lovely Juliet. Of course she blames him for it. She thinks he wanted to
make up to Miss Northwick, when Miss Northwick was just flinging herself at
Jack. Look at her!"
Jack Wilmington and Miss Sue Northwick were standing together near her
father and a party of her friends, and she was smiling and talking at
him. Eyes, lips, gestures, attitude expressed in the proud girl a fawning
eagerness to please the man, who received her homage rather as if it bored
him. His indifferent manner may have been one secret of his power over her,
and perhaps she was not capable of all the suffering she was capable of
inflicting.
Lyra turned to walk toward the house, deflecting a little in the direction
of her nephew and Miss Northwick. "Jack!" she drawled over the shoulder
next them as she passed, "I wish you'd bring your aunty's wrap to her on
the piazza."
"Why, stay here!" Putney called after her. "They're going to fetch the
refreshments out here."
"Yes, but I'm tired, Ralph, and I can't sit on the grass, at my age."
She moved on, with her sweeping, lounging pace, and Jack Wilmington, after
a moment's hesitation, bowed to Miss Northwick and went after her.
The girl remained apart from her friends, as if expecting his return.
Silhouetted against the bright windows, Lyra waited till Jack Wilmington
reappeared with a shawl and laid it on her shoulders. Then she sank into
a chair. The young man stood beside her talking down upon her. Something
restive and insistent expressed itself in their respective attitudes. He
sat down at her side.