Sir George Tressady, vol 1 | Page 8

she desired, and had been
generally supposed--though she herself was aware of some strong
evidence to the contrary--to be capable of getting anything she had set
her mind upon. She had set her mind, as the spectators in this particular
case had speedily divined, upon enslaving young George Tressady.
And she had not failed. For even during these last stirring days it had
been tolerably clear that she and his election had divided Tressady's
mind between them, with a balance, perhaps, to her side. As to the

measure of her success, however, that was still doubtful--to herself and
him most of all.
To-night, at any rate, he could not detach himself from her. He tried
repeatedly to talk to the girl on his left, a noble-faced child fresh out of
the schoolroom, who in three years' time would be as much Letty
Sewell's superior in beauty as in other things. But the effort was too
great. The strenuous business of the day had but left him--in fatigue
and reaction--the more athirst for amusement and the gratification of
another set of powers. He turned back to Letty, and through course
after course they chattered and sparred, discussing people, plays and
books, or rather, under cover of these, a number of those topics on the
borderland of passion whereby men and women make their first
snatches at intimacy--till Mrs. Watton's sharp grey eyes smiled behind
her fan, and the attention of her neighbour, Lord Fontenoy--an uneasy
attention--was again and again drawn to the pair.
Meanwhile, during the first half of dinner, a chair immediately opposite
to Tressady's place remained vacant. It was being kept for the eldest
son of the house, his mother explaining carelessly to Lord Fontenoy
that she believed he was "Out parishing somewhere, as usual."
However, with the appearance of the pheasants the door from the
drawing-room opened, and a slim dark-haired man slipped in. He took
his place noiselessly, with a smile of greeting to George and his
neighbour, and bade the butler in a whisper aside bring him any course
that might be going.
"Nonsense, Edward!" said his mother's loud voice from the head of the
table; "don't be ridiculous. Morris, bring back that hare entrée and the
mutton for Mr. Edward."
The newcomer raised his eyebrows mildly, smiled, and submitted.
"Where have you been, Edward?" said Tressady; "I haven't seen you
since the town-hall."
"I have been at a rehearsal. There is a parish concert next week, and I

conduct these functions."
"The concerts are always bad," said Mrs. Watton, curtly.
Edward Watton shrugged his shoulder. He had a charming timid air,
contradicted now and then by a look of enthusiastic resolution in the
eyes.
"All the more reason for rehearsal," he said. "However, really, they
won't do badly this time."
"Edward is one of the persons," said Mrs. Watton in a low aside to
Lord Fontenoy, "who think you can make friends with people--the
lower orders--by shaking hands with them, showing them
Burne-Jones's pictures, and singing 'The Messiah' with them. I had the
same idea once. Everybody had. It was like the measles. But the
sensible persons have got over it."
"Thank you, mamma," said Watton, making her a smiling bow.
Lady Tressady interrupted her talk with the squire at the other end of
the table to observe what was going on. She had been chattering very
fast in a shrill, affected voice, with a gesticulation so free and French,
and a face so close to his, that the nervous and finicking squire had
been every moment afraid lest the next should find her white fingers in
his very eyes. He felt an inward spasm of relief when he saw her
attention diverted.
"Is that Mr. Edward talking his Radicalism?" she asked, putting up a
gold eyeglass--"his dear, wicked Radicalism? Ah! we all know where
Mr. Edward got it."
The table laughed. Harding Watton looked particularly amused.
"Egeria was in this neighbourhood last week," he said, addressing Lady
Tressady. "Edward rode over to see her. Since then he has joined two
new societies, and ordered six new books on the Labour Question."

Edward flushed a little, but went on eating his dinner without any other
sign of disturbance.
"If you mean Lady Maxwell," he said good-humouredly, "I can only be
sorry for the rest of you that you don't know her."
He raised his handsome head with a bright air of challenge that became
him, but at the same time exasperated his mother.
"That woman!" said Mrs. Watton with ponderous force, throwing up
her hands as she spoke. Then she turned to Lord Fontenoy. "Don't you
regard her as the source of half the mischievous work done by this
precious Government in the last two years?" she asked him
imperiously.
A half-contemptuous smile crossed Lord Fontenoy's worn face.