"Oh, not at all," Helena said nervously. She sat down on the other
side of the big rosewood centre-table, glancing with worried eyes at
Lloyd Pryor.
"Move that lamp contraption," commanded Mr. Wright. "I like to see my
hostess!"
And Helena pushed the astral lamp from the centre of the table so that
his view was unobstructed.
"Is he a nuisance with his talk about his drama?"
Mr. Wright said, looking across at her with open eagerness in his
melancholy eyes.
"Why, no indeed."
"Do you think it's so very bad, considering?"
"It is not bad at all," said Mrs. Richie.
His face lighted like a child's. "Young fool! As if he could write a
drama! Well, madam, I came to ask you to do me the honor of taking
supper with me to-morrow night, and then of listening to this
wonderful production. Of course, sir, I include you. My nigger will
provide you with a fairly good bottle. Then this grandson of mine will
read his truck aloud. But we will fortify ourselves with supper
first."
His artless pride in planning this distressing festivity was so
ludicrous that Lloyd Pryor's disgust changed into involuntary mirth.
But Helena was plainly nervous. "Thank you; you are very kind; but I
am afraid I must say no."
Mr. Pryor was silently retreating towards the dining-room. As for the
visitor, he only had eyes for the mistress of the house.
"Why should you say no?"
She tried to answer lightly. "Oh, I like to be quiet."
"Quiet?" cried Benjamin Wright, rapping the table with his wine-glass.
"At your age? Nonsense!" He paused, cleared his throat, and then
sonorously: "'Can you endure the livery of a nun, For aye to be in shady cloister
mew'd, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to
the cold, fruitless moon?' Give me some more sherry. Of course you
must come. No use being shy--a pretty creatur' like you! And you said
you liked the play," he added with childlike reproach.
Helena, glad to change the subject, made haste to reassure him. "I do,
I do!" she said, and for a few minutes she kept the old face beaming
with her praise of Sam and his work. Unlike his grandson, Mr. Wright
was not critical of her criticism. Nothing she could say seemed to him
excessive. He contradicted every statement, but he believed it
implicitly. Then with a sigh of satisfaction, he returned to his
invitation. Helena shook her head decidedly.