He
returned later on in the afternoon, looking pale and chastened. He
bore the reproaches of his family in stately silence.
Mr. Percival Jones was in great evidence in the drawing-room.
"And soon--er--soon the--er--Spring will be with us once more," he was
saying in his high-pitched voice as he leant back in his chair and
joined the tips of his fingers together. "The Spring--ah--the Spring!
I have a--er--little effort I--er--composed on--er--the Coming of
Spring--I--er--will read to you some time if you will--ah--be kind
enough to--er--criticise--ah--impartially."
"_Criticise_!" they chorused. "It will be above criticism. Oh, do read
it to us, Mr. Jones."
"I will--er--this evening." His eyes wandered to the door, hoping and
longing for his beloved's entrance. But Ethel was with her father at a
matinee at the Winter Gardens and he looked and longed in vain. In
spite of this, however, the springs of his eloquence did not run dry,
and he held forth ceaselessly to his little circle of admirers.
"The simple--ah--pleasures of nature. How few of us--alas!--have
the--er--gift of appreciating them rightly. This--er--little seaside
hamlet with its--er--sea, its--er--promenade, its--er--Winter Gardens!
How beautiful it is! How few appreciate it rightly."
Here William entered and Mr. Percival Jones broke off abruptly. He
disliked William.
"Ah! here comes our little friend. He looks pale. Remorse, my young
friend? Ah, beware of untruthfulness.
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