The women resented the discovery that Isabel
was--personally speaking, at least--beyond the reach of hostile
criticism. Her beauty was viewed as a downright offense; her refined and
modest manners were set down as perfect acting; "really disgusting,
my dear, in so young a girl." General Drumblade, a large and mouldy
veteran, in a state of chronic astonishment (after his own matrimonial
experience) at Hardyman's folly in marrying at all, diffused a wide
circle of gloom, wherever he went and whatever he did. His accomplished
wife, forcing her high spirits on everybody's attention with a sort of
kittenish playfulness, intensified the depressing effect of the general
dullness by all the force of the strongest contrast. After waiting half
an hour for his mother, and waiting in vain, Hardyman led the way to the
tent in despair. "The sooner I fill their stomachs and get rid of them,"
he thought savagely, "the better I shall be pleased!"
The luncheon was attacked by the company with a certain silent ferocity,
which the waiters noticed as remarkable, even in their large experience.
The men drank deeply, but with wonderfully little effect in raising
their spirits; the women, with the exception of amiable Mrs. Drumblade,
kept Isabel deliberately out of the conversation that went on among
them. General Drumblade, sitting next to her in one of the places of
honor, discoursed to Isabel privately on "my brother-in-law Hardyman's
infernal temper." A young marquis, on her other side--a mere lad,
chosen to make the necessary speech in acknowledgment of his superior
rank--rose, in a state of nervous trepidation, to propose Isabel's
health as the chosen bride of their host.
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