“It is settled!” cried Denzil, jumping up, with a return of his extravagant spirits.  “You, Glazzard, will stand by and watch—­our truest friend.  You on the hustings!  Ha, ha, ha!  Come, one more glass of whisky, and I will tell them to get our cab ready.  I say, Glazzard, from this evening forth never a word between us about the secret.  That is understood, of course.  You may let people know that you were in my confidence about the private marriage.  But I can trust your discretion as my own.  Your glass—­pledge me in the old style!”

Ten minutes more, and they were driving back to Polterham.

CHAPTER X

But for domestic warfare, Mrs. Mumbray would often have been at a loss how to spend her time.  The year of her husband’s Mayoralty supplied, it is true, a good many unwonted distractions, but in the middle of the morning, and late in the evening (if there were no dinner-party), ennui too frequently weighed upon her.  For relief in the former case, she could generally resort to a quarrel with Serena; in the latter, she preferred to wrangle with her spouse.

One morning early in December, having indulged her ill-humour with even more than usual freedom among the servants, she repaired to the smaller drawing-room, where, at this hour, her daughter often sat reading.  Serena was at a table, a French book and dictionary open before her.  After hovering for a few moments with eyes that gathered wrath, the Mayoress gave voice to her feelings.

“So you pay no attention to my wishes, Serena!  I will not have you reading such books!”

Her daughter rustled the dictionary, impassive.  Conscious of reduced authority, Mrs. Mumbray glared and breathed hard, her spacious bosom working like a troubled sea.

“Your behaviour astonishes me!—­after what you heard Mr. Vialls say.”

“Mr. Vialls is an ignorant and foolish man,” remarked Serena, without looking up.

Then did the mother’s rage burst forth without restraint, eloquent, horrisonous.  As if to save her ears, Serena went to the piano and began to play.  When the voice was silenced, she turned round.

“You had rather have me play than read that book?  That shows how little you understand of either.  This is an immoral piece of music!  If you knew what it meant you would scream in horror.  It is immoral, and I am going to practise it day after day.”

The Mayoress stood awhile in mute astonishment, then, with purple face, swept from the room.

The family consisted of four persons.  Serena’s brother, a young gentleman of nineteen, articled to a solicitor in the town, was accustomed to appear at meals, but seldom deigned to devote any more of his leisure to the domestic circle.  After luncheon to-day, as he stood at the window with a sporting newspaper, his mother addressed him.

“We have company this evening, Raglan.  Take care that you’re not late.”