There wasn't a questionable
guest in the house, unless one were to question the right of the
dead man's widow to be there--and, after all, she was upstairs with
the family. Even so, she was a Wrandall--remotely, of course, but
recognisable.
Yes, they counted noses, so to say. As one after the other arrived
and was ushered into the huge drawing-room, he or she was accorded
a congratulatory look from those already assembled, a tribute
returned with equal amiability. Each one noted who else was there,
and each one said to himself that at last they really had something
all to themselves. It was truly a pleasure, a relief, to be able to
do something without being pushed about by people who didn't belong
but thought they did. They sat back,--stiffly, of course,--and in
utter stillness confessed that there could be such a thing as the
survival of the fittest. Yes, there wasn't a nose there that couldn't
be counted with perfect serenity. It was a notable occasion.
Mrs. Wrandall, the elder, had made out the list. She did not consult
her daughter-in-law in the matter. It is true that Sara forestalled
her in a way by sending word, through Leslie, that she would be pleased
if Mrs. Wrandall would issue invitations to as many of Challis's
friends as she deemed advisable. As for herself, she had no wish
in the matter; she would be satisfied with whatever arrangements
the family cared to make.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93