Chapter 12: A Tennis Party

UNDER the “ancestral trees” of the Park a good many ladies were assembled, a few black coats and lighter masculine costumes being sprinkled among them. The feminine element commonly predominates in a country spot, such as Craye.

They were better off than usual at the Park, since both the sons of the house were present—Mervyn, handsome, and full of talk; Edred, not less handsome, perhaps, but grave and silent.

Two sets of tennis-players were already in full swing when Margot and Dolly arrived. Mrs. Claughton swept forward to meet them, her large frame imposing in puce satin and black lace. Mr. Claughton was not so tall as his wife, but he equalled her in breadth; and by a certain patronising assurance of manner, he more than made up for lack of height.

“Fine afternoon! Seasonable weather, very!” he declared, casting looks of admiration upon Margot’s graceful figure and Dolly’s “golden locks.” “Most glad to see you both. Quite a gratification.”

“But imprudent of Margot,” chimed in Mrs. Claughton. “I heard this morning how unwell you were. How do you do, Dolly. Margot is looking very pale. I wonder Isabel allowed her to venture.”

“Isabel isn’t a household tyrant,” said Dolly.

“Margot ought to be old enough to judge for herself, you mean. But some people never are old enough. Some people never learn prudence. I am afraid Margot is one of them. Emmeline—imagine Margot coming to-day.”

The grave-mannered Emmeline had appeared behind her mother. Emmeline always did her duty loyally on these occasions; but she did it as a duty, with no sign of enjoyment. Nothing was neglected, nobody was forgotten, yet all were conscious that Emmeline Claughton would have preferred their absence to their presence. She could not relax, could not open out, could not be simple and bright and conversational.

“I will find an easy-chair for Margot somewhere,” she said, in the constrained manner which seemed natural to her.

“Don’t mind about me. I am all right,” Margot said, smiling.

“And pray what is to be done with our golden-haired maiden?” demanded Mr. Claughton, in his most patronising tone.

Mrs. Claughton’s eyes ran over Dolly, not for the first time. “Still down!” she murmured.

“My father likes her best so for the present,” observed Margot.

“But, my dear Margot, —now Dolly has come out—it is so unlike other girls, you know! Of course, your father’s wishes—ahem—but he is only a man—he knows nothing about the correct things for young girls. I really think, in such a case as this—if Dolly is not to become a marked person in the neighbourhood—”

Dolly was desperately angry with herself for being unable to restrain a brilliant blush as the two young men drew near. Poor Isabel’s well-meant but clumsy questioning had broken down a barrier which hitherto had fenced round Dolly’s allowed consciousness of the state of things. Dolly’s eyes were suddenly opened wide. If Issy—dear dull Issy!—had begun to notice, surely other people must have begun too; and if that were so, she must have shown too plainly something of what she felt. So it was quite time to put people off the scent. That anybody should think she cared particularly for Edred, when Edred had shown no signs of caring particularly for her, was too dreadful! Dolly had come to the Park this afternoon, with a resolute determination to meet Edred and behave towards him exactly as she would meet and behave towards the merest acquaintance. Everybody, seeing her manner, should be convinced of her indifference.