‘Exactly so,’ said Moore, with his rare smile. ‘And what have you ferreted out in your “spirit of laudable inquiry”?’
He perceived the inner drawer open.
‘This is empty,’ said he. ‘Who has taken—’
‘Here! here!’ Caroline hastened to say, and she restored the little packet to its place.
He shut it up; he locked it in with a small key attached to his watch-guard; he restored the other papers to order, closed the repository, and sat down without further remark.
‘I thought you would have scolded much more, sir,’ said Henry. ‘The girls deserve reprimand.’
‘I leave them to their own consciences.’
‘It accuses them of crimes intended as well as perpetrated, sir. If I had not been here they would have treated your portfolio as they have done your desk; but I told them it was padlocked.’
‘And will you have lunch with us?’ here interposed Shirley, addressing Moore, and desirous, as it seemed, to turn the conversation.
‘Certainly, if I may.’
‘You will be restricted to new milk and Yorkshire oat-cake.’
‘Va—pour le lait frais!’ said Louis. ‘But for your oat-cake—’ And he made a grimace.
‘He cannot eat it,’ said Henry. ‘He thinks it is like bran, raised with sour yeast.’
‘Come, then, by special dispensation we will allow him a few cracknels, but nothing less homely.’
The hostess rang the bell and gave her frugal orders, which were presently executed. She herself measured out the milk and distributed the bread round the cosy circle now enclosing the bright little schoolroom fire. She then took the post of toaster-general, and, kneeling on the rug, fork in hand, fulfilled her office with dexterity.
Mr. Hall, who relished any homely innovation on ordinary usages, and to whom the husky oat-cake was from custom suave as manna, seemed in his best spirits. He talked and laughed gleefully, now with Caroline, whom he had fixed by his side, now with Shirley, and again with Louis Moore. And Louis met him in congenial spirit. He did not laugh much, but he uttered in the quietest tone the wittiest things. Gravely spoken sentences, marked by unexpected turns and a quite fresh flavour and poignancy, fell easily from his lips. He proved himself to be what Mr. Hall had said he was, excellent company. Caroline marvelled at his humour, but still more at his entire self-possession. Nobody there present seemed to impose on him a sensation of unpleasant restraint; nobody seemed a bore, a check, a chill to him—and yet there was the cool and lofty Miss Keeldar kneeling before the fire, almost at his feet.
But Shirley was cool and lofty no longer—at least, not at this moment. She appeared unconscious of the humility of her present position; or, if conscious, it was only to taste a charm in its lowliness. It did not revolt her pride that the group to whom she voluntarily officiated as handmaid should include her cousin’s tutor; it did not scare her that, while she handed the bread and milk to the rest, she had to offer it to him also; and Moore took his portion from her hand as calmly as if he had been her equal.
‘You are overheated now,’ he said, when she had retained the fork for some time. ‘Let me relieve you.’