Violet Jacob > Flemington

232 FLEMINGTON
the court below came up, though the windows
were shut.
The candles, dim enough to our modern stand¬
ards of lighting, shone against the darkness of
polished wood, and laughter and talk were escap¬
ing, like running water out of a thicket, from a
knot of people gathered round a small, plump,
aquiline-nosed woman. The group was at the
end of the room, and now and again an individual
would detach himself from it, to return, drawn by
some jest that reached him ere he had crossed
the floor.
“Mrs. Cockburn’s wit has not rusted this
twelvemonth,” observed Lord Grange.
“ I marvel she has any left after nine years of
housekeeping with her straitlaced father-in-law,”
replied Balnillo in a preoccupied voice.
His eyes were elsewhere.
“Ah !” said Grange, pulling a righteous face.
The group round Mrs. Cockburn opened, and
she caught sight of him for the first time. She
bowed and smiled civilly, showing her rather
prominent teeth, then, noticing Balnillo, she
came over to the two men. Her friends stepped
apart to let her pass, watching her go with that
touch of proprietary pride which a small intimate
society feels in its more original members. It
was evident that her least acts were deemed
worthy of observation.
As she greeted David, he turned round with a
low bow.
“My lord, I thought you were buried!” she
exclaimed.