Stocks.
Dinner that night was a weary meal to the girl. Lady Manorwater
prattled about the day's events, and Lord Manorwater, hopelessly bored,
ate his food in silence. The lively Bertha had gone to bed with a
headache, and the younger Miss Afflint was the receptacle for the moment
of her hostess's confidences. Alice sat between Mr. Stocks and Arthur,
facing a tall man with a small head and immaculate hair who had ridden
over to dine and sleep. One of the two had the wisdom to see her humour
and keep silent, though the thought plunged him into a sea of ugly
reflections. It would be hard if, now that things were going well with
him, the lady alone should prove obdurate. For in all this politician's
daydreams a dainty figure walked by his side, sat at his table's head,
received his friends, fascinated austere ministers, and filled his pipe
of an evening at home.
Arthur was silent, and to him the lady turned in vain. He treated her
with an elaborate politeness which sat ill on his brusque manners, and
for the most part showed no desire to enliven the prevailing dulness.
But after dinner he carried her off to the gardens on the plea of fresh
air and a fine sunset, and the girl, who liked the boy, went gladly.
Then the reason of his silence was made plain. He dismayed her by
becoming lovesick.
"Tell me your age, Alice," he implored.
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