“Oh!  Well, I am off; but mind, Nelly, I am offended.  We are no longer on speaking terms.  Look as contemptuous as you please:  you will be sorry when you think over this.  Remember:  you said you loathed me.”

“So I do,” said Elinor, stubbornly.

“Very good,” said Marmaduke, turning his back on her.  Just then the concertinists returned from the platform, and a waiter appeared with refreshments, which the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him in dispensing.  Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles of soda water a sufficiently skilled labor to be more interesting than making small talk, went to the table and busied himself with the corkscrew.

“Well, Nelly,” said Marian, drawing her chair close to Miss McQuinch, and speaking in a low voice, “what do you think of Jasper’s workman?”

“Not much,” replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders.  “He is very conceited, and very coarse.”

“Do you really think so?  I expected to find you delighted with his unconventionality.  I thought him rather amusing.”

“I thought him extremely aggravating.  I hate to have to speak to people of that sort.”

“Then you consider him vulgar,” said Marian, disappointed.

“N—­no.  Not vulgarer than anybody else.  He couldnt be that.”

“Sherry and soda, Marian?” said Marmaduke, approaching.

“No, thank you, Marmaduke.  Get Nelly something.”

“As Miss McQuinch and I are no longer on speaking terms, I leave her to the care of yonder scientific amateur, who has just refused, on teetotal grounds, to pledge the Rev. George in a glass of eighteen shilling sherry.”

“Dont be silly, Marmaduke.  Bring Nelly some soda water.”

“Do nothing of the sort,” said Miss McQuinch.

Marmaduke bowed and retired.

“What is the matter between you and Duke now?” said Marian.

“Nothing.  I told him I loathed him.”

“Oh!  I dont wonder at his being a little huffed.  How can you say things you dont mean?”

“I do mean them.  What with his folly, Sholto’s mean conceit, George’s hypocrisy, that man’s vulgarity, Mrs. Fairfax’s affectation, your insufferable amiability, and the dreariness of those concertina people, I feel so wretched that I could find it in my heart to loathe anybody and everybody.”

“Nonsense, Nelly!  You are only in the blues.”

“Only in the blues!” said Miss McQuinch sarcastically.  “Yes.  That is all.”

“Take some sherry.  It will brighten you up.”

“Dutch courage!  Thank you:  I prefer my present moroseness.”

“But you are not morose, Nelly.”

“Oh, stuff, Marian!  Dont throw away your amiability on me.  Here comes your new friend with refreshments.  I wonder was he ever a waiter?  He looks exactly like one.”