Before long, however, ominous pauses began to break
up the conversation, and Mary was accomplished hostess enough to know
what these meant. At a sign from her, Jerry lighted the candles on the
piano, and thereupon a fugue-like chorus went up: "Mrs. Mahony, won't
you play something?--Oh, do!--Yes, please, do. . . . I should enjoy it
so much."
Mary did not wait to be pressed; it was her business to set the ball
rolling; and she stood up and went to the piano as unconcernedly as she
would have gone to sweep a room or make a bed.
Placing a piece of music on the rack, she turned down the corners of the
leaves. But here Archdeacon Long's handsome, weatherbeaten face looked
over her shoulder. "I hope you're going to give us the cannons, Mrs.
Mahony?" he said genially. And so Mary obliged him by laying aside the
MORCEAU she had chosen, and setting up instead a "battle-piece," that
was a general favourite.
"Aha! that's the ticket," said Henry Ocock, and rubbed his hands as Mary
struck up, pianissimo, the march that told of the enemy's approach.
And: "Boompity-boomp-boomp-boomp!" Archdeacon Long could not refrain
from underlining each fresh salvo of artillery; while: "That's a breach
in their walls for 'em!" was Chinnery of the London Chartered's
contribution to the stock of fun.
Mahony stood on the hearthrug and surveyed the assembly. His eyes fled
Mrs. Devine, most unfortunately perched on an ottoman in the middle of
the room, where she sat, purple, shiny and beaming, two hot, fat, red
hands clasped over her stomach ("Like a heathen idol! Confound the
woman! I shall have to go and do the polite to her"), and sought Mary at
the piano, hanging with pleasure on the slim form in the rich silk
dress.
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