name of his own minister.
“Feller we ducked out the side door to miss t’other day,” Rex reminded him helpfully. “Minister, I think your butler said he is. Ain’t that right, ma’am?”
“Yes, the minister of St. Alton’s,” the astonished dame replied.
“That was the day I had to spend with my steward,” Dewar explained, in an effort to gloss it over. “Roots becomes very vexed with me if I interrupt our business chats.”
“Day we saw Miss Jane in the village,” Rex added, with a fond smile at the girl.
There was an uncomfortable moment’s silence while the two elder ladies regarded him in a measuring fashion. Into the silence, Rex spoke up. “See you’re reading, Miss Proctor.” He used the comment as an excuse to join her on the sofa, reaching out to see the title of her book. Necromancer of the Black Forest, he read. “Sounds pretty heavy stuff for a young lady. Daresay you’re blue. Wearing blue anyway.”
“Oh no, it is only a novel,” she assured him, dismayed at the charge of being an intellectual.
“That so? A new one on me. Like reading myself. Read The Castle of Otranto once. You read The Castle of Otranto, Miss Proctor?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t recall the title.”
“Like me,” he told her, nodding his head sagely. “Have no mind for what I’ve read, except for Otranto. Dewar—he could tell you what I’ve read. I always borrow my books from him.”
“It would take me all of a minute if you are interested in the list,” Dewar said, with a satirical smile.
Neither Miss Proctor nor anyone else displayed the least interest in either the list or the ill-natured remark. Lady Proctor enquired for Lady Dewar’s health, after which Dewar conveyed his mother’s imaginary compliments to his hostess. These civilities taken care of, he turned to Miss McCormack, who was regarding him with scanty approval. She had not been mistaken to think him unkind in his remarks the preceding evening. He was nasty to Homberly, heedless of his duties and, she suspected, not quite truthful in trying to hide his faults.
“You have not forgotten, I hope, that you and I have something to discuss today, Miss McCormack,” he said.
“I have not forgotten. I am curious as to what it can be,” she answered.
“What is this? You did not tell me of this, Holly,” her aunt said, leaning forward, her eyes bright with interest.
“I did not know what matter Lord Dewar had in mind,” she explained, looking to him for enlightenment.
“Putting on a play,” Rex told them. “Something to do to get in the days till we go back to London, you know.”
This was not the manner in which Dewar had planned to broach the subject but, as he considered it very much a treat for the ladies, he was not much dismayed. He looked to the three for the expected approval. He saw Jane blinking her eyes in astonishment, Lady Proctor glancing to the doorway for signs of the tea tray, and Miss McCormack regarding him in stony disapproval. The thought struck him that the household might be Methodist, though he had not heard anyone say so. “A classical drama—something to bring a little culture to Harknell,” he explained hastily.
Holly’s expression softened into interest at this. “How nice,” she said. “The school put on The Search after Happiness a few years ago, a pastoral play by Hanna More, you know,” she said, nodding her approval at this high aim. “What play is it you plan to bring to the village, sir? The travelling troupes seldom stop here, as we are a small community, and cannot scrape together sufficient audience to make it worth their while.” It seemed a suitable charity venture to her that Dewar should finance this scheme.
“Actually it is our intention to mount the production ourselves,” he said.
“Oh! That is why you brought those gentlemen with you. What play is it you are going to put on for us?” she asked, still satisfied.
“That is what I hope to discuss with you ladies
“Feller we ducked out the side door to miss t’other day,” Rex reminded him helpfully. “Minister, I think your butler said he is. Ain’t that right, ma’am?”
“Yes, the minister of St. Alton’s,” the astonished dame replied.
“That was the day I had to spend with my steward,” Dewar explained, in an effort to gloss it over. “Roots becomes very vexed with me if I interrupt our business chats.”
“Day we saw Miss Jane in the village,” Rex added, with a fond smile at the girl.
There was an uncomfortable moment’s silence while the two elder ladies regarded him in a measuring fashion. Into the silence, Rex spoke up. “See you’re reading, Miss Proctor.” He used the comment as an excuse to join her on the sofa, reaching out to see the title of her book. Necromancer of the Black Forest, he read. “Sounds pretty heavy stuff for a young lady. Daresay you’re blue. Wearing blue anyway.”
“Oh no, it is only a novel,” she assured him, dismayed at the charge of being an intellectual.
“That so? A new one on me. Like reading myself. Read The Castle of Otranto once. You read The Castle of Otranto, Miss Proctor?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t recall the title.”
“Like me,” he told her, nodding his head sagely. “Have no mind for what I’ve read, except for Otranto. Dewar—he could tell you what I’ve read. I always borrow my books from him.”
“It would take me all of a minute if you are interested in the list,” Dewar said, with a satirical smile.
Neither Miss Proctor nor anyone else displayed the least interest in either the list or the ill-natured remark. Lady Proctor enquired for Lady Dewar’s health, after which Dewar conveyed his mother’s imaginary compliments to his hostess. These civilities taken care of, he turned to Miss McCormack, who was regarding him with scanty approval. She had not been mistaken to think him unkind in his remarks the preceding evening. He was nasty to Homberly, heedless of his duties and, she suspected, not quite truthful in trying to hide his faults.
“You have not forgotten, I hope, that you and I have something to discuss today, Miss McCormack,” he said.
“I have not forgotten. I am curious as to what it can be,” she answered.
“What is this? You did not tell me of this, Holly,” her aunt said, leaning forward, her eyes bright with interest.
“I did not know what matter Lord Dewar had in mind,” she explained, looking to him for enlightenment.
“Putting on a play,” Rex told them. “Something to do to get in the days till we go back to London, you know.”
This was not the manner in which Dewar had planned to broach the subject but, as he considered it very much a treat for the ladies, he was not much dismayed. He looked to the three for the expected approval. He saw Jane blinking her eyes in astonishment, Lady Proctor glancing to the doorway for signs of the tea tray, and Miss McCormack regarding him in stony disapproval. The thought struck him that the household might be Methodist, though he had not heard anyone say so. “A classical drama—something to bring a little culture to Harknell,” he explained hastily.
Holly’s expression softened into interest at this. “How nice,” she said. “The school put on The Search after Happiness a few years ago, a pastoral play by Hanna More, you know,” she said, nodding her approval at this high aim. “What play is it you plan to bring to the village, sir? The travelling troupes seldom stop here, as we are a small community, and cannot scrape together sufficient audience to make it worth their while.” It seemed a suitable charity venture to her that Dewar should finance this scheme.
“Actually it is our intention to mount the production ourselves,” he said.
“Oh! That is why you brought those gentlemen with you. What play is it you are going to put on for us?” she asked, still satisfied.
“That is what I hope to discuss with you ladies
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