Dale, was no doubt happy enough; as, let us hope, was the young lady also; but they added very little to the general hilarity of the company.  John Eames was seated between his own sister and the parson, and did not at all enjoy his position.  He had a full view of the doctor’s felicity, as the happy pair sat opposite to him, and conceived himself to be hardly treated by Lily’s absence.  The party was certainly very dull, as were all such dinners at Guestwick Manor.  There are houses, which, in their everyday course, are not conducted by any means in a sad or unsatisfactory manner,—­in which life, as a rule, runs along merrily enough; but which cannot give a dinner-party; or, I might rather say, should never allow themselves to be allured into the attempt.  The owners of such houses are generally themselves quite aware of the fact, and dread the dinner which they resolved to give quite as much as it is dreaded by their friends.  They know that they prepare for their guests an evening of misery, and for themselves certain long hours of purgatory which are hardly to be endured.  But they will do it.  Why that long table, and all those supernumerary glasses and knives and forks, if they are never to be used?  That argument produces all this misery; that and others cognate to it.  On the present occasion, no doubt, there were excuses to be made.  The squire and his niece had been invited on special cause, and their presence would have been well enough.  The doctor added in would have done no harm.  It was good-natured, too, that invitation given to Mrs Eames and her daughter.  The error lay in the parson and his wife.  There was no necessity for their being there, nor had they any ground on which to stand, except the party-giving ground.  Mr and Mrs Boyce made the dinner-party, and destroyed the social circle.  Lady Julia knew that she had been wrong as soon as she had sent out the note.

Nothing was said on that evening which has any bearing on our story.  Nothing, indeed, was said which had any bearing on anything.  The earl’s professed object had been to bring the squire and young Eames together; but people are never brought together on such melancholy occasions.  Though they sip their port in close contiguity, they are poles asunder in their minds and feelings.  When the Guestwick fly came for Mrs Eames, and the parson’s pony-phaeton came for him and Mrs Boyce, a great relief was felt; but the misery of those who were left had gone too far to allow of any reaction on that evening.  The squire yawned, and the earl yawned, and then there was an end of it for that night.

CHAPTER LIV

The Second Visit to the Guestwick Bridge

Bell had declared that her sister would be very happy to see John Eames if he would go over to Allington, and he had replied that of course he would go there.  So much having been, as it were, settled, he was able to speak of his visit as a matter of course at the breakfast-table, on the morning after the earl’s dinner-party.  “I must get you to come round with me, Dale, and see what I am doing to the land,” the earl said.  And then he proposed to order saddle-horses.  But the squire preferred walking, and in this way they were disposed of soon after breakfast.