April Lady

Chapter Two

Shortly before four o’clock that afternoon young Lady Cardross’s barouche was driven into Hyde Park by the Stanhope Gate. It was a very stylish vehicle, quite the latest thing in town carriages, and it had been bestowed on her ladyship, together with the pair of perfectly matched grays that drew it, by her husband, upon her installation as mistress of his house in Grosvenor Square. “Slap up to the echo,” was what Dysart called it: certainly no other lady owned a more elegant turn-out. To be seen in Hyde Park between the hours of five and six on any fine afternoon during the London season, driving, riding, or even walking, was de rigueur for anyone of high fashion; and before her marriage, when she had sat beside her mama in an oldfashioned landaulet, Nell had frequently envied the possessors of more dashing equipages, and had thought how agreeable it would be to sit behind a pair of high-steppers in a smart barouche, with its wheels picked out in yellow. She had been delighted with the Earl’s gift, exclaiming naively: “Now I shall be all the crack!”

“Do you wish to be?” he had asked her, amused. “Yes,” she replied honestly. “And I think I ought to be, because although Miss Wilby—our governess, you know says that it is wrong to set one’s mind on worldly things, you are all the crack, which makes it perfectly proper, I think, for me to be fashionable too.”

“I am persuaded,” he said, his countenance admirably composed, “that Miss Wilby must perceive it to be your duty, even.”

She was a little dubious about this, but happily recollecting that she was no longer answerable to her governess she was able to put that excellent educationist out of her mind. “You know how people talk of Lord Dorset on his white horse, and Mrs. Toddington with her chestnuts?” she said confidentially. “Now they will talk of Lady Cardross, behind her match-grays! I should not be astonished if my barouche were to draw as many eyes as hers!”

“Nor should I,” agreed his lordship, grave as a judge. “In fact, I should be much astonished if it did not.”

Whether it was the smart turn-out which drew all eyes, or its charming occupant, Nell had soon experienced the felicity of attracting a great deal of attention when she drove in the Park. She became a noted figure, and never doubted that she owed this triumph to her splendid horses until her more knowledgeable sister-in-law remarked chattily, as she stepped into the carriage that day: “Isn’t it a fortunate circumstance, Nell, that you are fair and I am dark? I don’t wonder at it that everyone stares to see us: we take the shine out of all the other females! Mr. Bottisham told Hardwick so, and Hardwick says it is a compliment well worth having, because Mr. Bottisham is in general quite odiously censorious. I think,” she added, dispassionately considering the matter, “that you are prettier than I am, but on the other hand, I have a great deal of countenance, besides being dark, which is more in the mode, so I don’t excessively mind your being beautiful.”

Nell could not help laughing, but, with Miss Wilby’s precepts in mind, she ventured to suggest to Letty that such candour was a trifle improper.

“That is the sort of thing Aunt Chudleigh says,” observed Letty, unabashed. “For my part, I see nothing improper in speaking the truth. And you can’t deny that it is the truth!” She made herself comfortable beside Nell, and unfurled a pink sunshade. “We make a perfect picture,” she said complacently.

“I collect Lord Hardwick told you so!”

“Everyone tells me so!”

“Well, take care they don’t next tell you that you are abominably conceited,” recommended Nell.

“They won’t,” asserted Letty, with confidence. “No one I care a fig for, at all events, I daresay Felix might, for I never knew anyone so stuffy!”

However, when they presently saw Mr. Hethersett strolling in the Park there was nothing to be read in that stickler’s countenance but critical appreciation. Nell directed her coachman to pull up his horses, and when Mr. Hethersett came up to the carriage leaned forward to give him her hand. “How do you do? I hoped we might see you. Do you mean to go to the Beadings’ masquerade next week? Cardross has been obliged to cry off: isn’t it infamous of him? Will you dine with us, and give us your escort in his stead?”

He looked regretful, and shook his head. “Can’t,” he said mournfully. “Excused myself to Mrs. Beading. Told her I had another engagement. Not the thing to go there after that. Pity!”

She smiled. “You cannot hoax me into believing that you think so! Confess! You dislike masquerades!”

“Not trying to hoax you: happy to escort you anywhere! Not but what it ain’t the sort of party I like. If I were you I’d cry off, because you won’t enjoy it. Not just in your style.”

“I declare, you are the stupidest creature, Felix!” Letty broke in. “Why shouldn’t we enjoy it? It will be rare mummery, for we are all to wear masks, and—”

“Yes, a vast rout of people, and rompings!” interrupted Mr. Hethersett, in a tone of deep disapproval. “You may enjoy it: I never said you wouldn’t. All I said was, Lady Cardross won’t. Do you want a piece of advice, cousin?”

“No,” said Letty crossly.

“Mistake,” he said, shaking his head. “Not saying that ain’t an elegant gown: it is. Not saying that hat don’t become you: it does.” He left an ominous pause, during which Letty eyed him uneasily. She might despise him for what she considered his antiquated notions of propriety, but no aspirant to high fashion could afford to ignore his pronouncements on all matters of sartorial taste. He delivered his verdict. “I don’t like those pink ribbons. Or the feather. Insipid.”

“Insipid?” she exclaimed indignantly. She cast a glance down at the double row of pink knots which ornamented her dress of delicate fawn-coloured muslin. They exactly matched the feather than hung down on one side of a little straw hat which was turned up on the other side, and worn at a dashing angle on her glossy black ringlets. French kid gloves of the same pink completed a toilet which she had thought to be, until this painful moment, in the first crack of the mode. Doubt now entered her soul; she turned her anxious gaze upon her cousin. “It isn’t! You are saying it to vex me!”

“No wish to vex you. Just thought you wanted to be up to the knocker.”

“I do—I’m up to the knocker!”

“Not with those pink bows,” said Mr. Hethersett firmly. “Quite pretty, but dashed commonplace! Ought to be cherry. Give you a new touch!”

With these words he made his bow to both ladies, and proceeded on his way, leaving his cousin torn between wrath and a growing conviction that he was right, and Nell a good deal amused.

“If Felix were not related to me I should cut his acquaintance!” said Letty, glaring vengefully after him. “He is prosy, and uncivil, besides placing himself on far too high a form! And now I come to think of it I didn’t above half like his waistcoat!” She transferred her gaze to Nell, as Mr. Hethersett’s exquisitely tailored person receded in the distance. “If he thinks my ribbons insipid I am astonished that he hadn’t the effrontery to say that your dress was commonplace! Depend upon it, he thinks you would look more becomingly in purple, or puce, or scarlet! Odious creature!”

“Oh, he couldn’t say that to me, when he told me weeks ago never to wear those strong colours!” said Nell, whose gown of Berlin silk was just the colour of her eyes. “That was when I was wearing that maroon pelisse. I promise you, he was quite as odious to me. Don’t regard it!”

“I never pay the least heed to a word he says,” replied Letty, in a lofty voice. She relapsed into thoughtful silence while the barouche proceeded on its way, but said after several minutes: “Do you think I should tell my woman to dye this feather, or purchase a new one?”

“Dye that one,” responded Nell. “And also the ribbons. I wish he might have gone with us to the masquerade: it would have been much more comfortable! I suppose . . .” She hesitated looking doubtfully at Letty. “I suppose you would not like to go to Merion with Cardross instead?”

“Nell!” almost shrieked Letty, an expression of scandalized dismay on her countenance. “Go to Merion in the middle of the season? You must be out of your senses! And if that is what Giles wishes us to do I think it is the shabbiest thing I ever heard of, when he promised I should go to the masquerade! Yes, and after fobbing me off with this, when I particularly wanted to go to the Covent Garden masquerade!” she added indignantly. “Saying it was not the thing, and we should go to the Beadings’ private masquerade instead! Just like him! I daresay, if I only knew—”

“It is not just like him, and I wish you will not fly into a pet for nothing!” said Nell, firing up. “If you only knew, he said not another word to persuade me to go with him to Merion when I reminded him that you particularly wished to go to the masquerade! And if Felix hadn’t failed—”

“But, Nell, it’s of no consequence!” Letty urged. “I am sure quite fifty of our friends are going to it, and even if we found ourselves amongst strangers it still wouldn’t signify, because Mrs. Beading is your cousin! I own, it would be more comfortable to take some gentleman along with us, but you may easily invite Westbury, or Sir George Marlow, or—”

“No!” said Nell emphatically. “Not to a masquerade!”

Letty uttered a tiny spurt of laughter. “Are you afraid they wouldn’t keep the line? For my part, I think it would be very good fun if they did flirt outrageously with us! But you are the oddest creature! Not up to snuff at all, in spite of having come out a whole year before I did. Why, at my very first ball—” She broke off, as Nell nipped her arm, directing her eyes to the servants on the box of the carriage. “Oh, stuff! No, don’t be cross: I won’t say a word, I promise! How would it be if we took Jeremy with us? I daresay he would be very glad to go, and you may be sure he would conduct himself with all the propriety in the world, because even Giles owns that he is perfectly the gentleman!”

“Don’t be so absurd!” begged Nell. “He told you himself that he hadn’t received an invitation, and I can readily believe that he has too much propriety to go to the party without one. Besides, you know very well I wouldn’t invite him when it is what Giles would particularly dislike.”

Letty accepted this rebuff philosophically, saying in a resigned tone: “No, I didn’t think you would. Well, what is to be done? Pray don’t say you cannot go if Giles does not, for of all the dowdy notions—!”

Nell flushed. “No such thing! I mean, I haven’t the remotest intention of saying such a thing! Only I can’t immediately think of any gentleman whom I—” She stopped, as her troubled gaze alighted on two horsemen, riding easily towards them. Her eyes brightened; she exclaimed: “Dysart!”

“The very man!” declared Letty enthusiastically. “Now you may be easy!”

This optimism, however, seemed for several minutes to have been ill-founded. The Viscount, who was bestriding a nervous young blood-chestnut few men would have cared to exercise in the Park at an hour when it was thronged with traffic, responded readily enough to his sister’s signal, bringing his reluctant mount up to the barouche, and holding it there with all the apparent ease of an accomplished horseman; but when she asked him if he had received an invitation to the Beadings’ masquerade, he replied: “Ay, but I don’t mean to go.”

“Oh, Dy, you didn’t refuse?” Nell said anxiously.

“No, I didn’t refuse precisely,” admitted Dysart, whose careless practice it was to leave all but a few favoured invitations unanswered. “Here, Corny! Don’t have to introduce you to my sister, do I? Or to Lady Letitia?”

His companion, who had been holding coyly aloof, edged his horse forward, raising the low-crowned beaver from his head, and bowing slightly to both ladies. Mr. Cornelius Fancot was a chubby-faced young gentleman, slightly junior to the Viscount, whose devoted follower he had been ever since the pair had met at Harrow. There, he had been privileged to lend his aid to his dazzling friend in various hare-brained exploits; later, he had been of invaluable assistance in disposing suitably of the statue of Mercury in the Quad at Christ Church; and if he had never, either when up at Oxford or since both had come down from that seat of learning, contrived to rival Dysart’s more celebrated feats, which included putting a donkey to bed with a complete stranger in an inn, and leaping one of his hunters over a dining-table equipped with a full complement of plate, silver, glasses, and chandeliers, he had won for himself, besides the reputation of being one who never refused a wager, considerable fame for having walked the length of Piccadilly on a pair of stilts; and for having won a bet that he would journey to Dover and back again to London before his too-hopeful challenger had made a million dots on sheet after sheet of paper. Unlike his noble friend, he was possessed of a handsome fortune, and was unencumbered by any kin more nearly related to him than several aunts, to whose admonitions he paid no heed at all; and various cousins whom he had no hesitation in condemning as a parcel of slow-tops. His habit proclaimed the sporting man, but a hankering after dandyism was betrayed by buckram-wadded shoulders to his lavishly corded and tasselled Polish coat, and a Brummell tie round his rather short neck. The life and soul of a convivial party at Long’s Hotel, or Limmer’s, he was apt to be tongue-tied in the presence of ladies, and might be looked for in vain at Almack’s Assembly Rooms. He was sufficiently well-acquainted with Nell to feel no particular alarm when she addressed him; but a quizzing glance from Letty’s mischievous eyes threw him at once into stuttering disorder. Observing this, the Viscount, with his customary lack of ceremony, recommended that enterprising damsel to pay no need to him. “Not in the petticoat-line,” he explained. “Are you going to this precious masquerade, Nell?”

“Yes, indeed we are, only we find ourselves in a little fix. Cardross has been obliged to cry off, you see, and it is so disagreeable to go to such affairs with no gentleman to escort one! And Felix cannot go with us either, so, if you please, Dy, will you be so obliging as to—”

“No, dash it, Nell!” interrupted the Viscount hastily. “Not to a masquerade out at Chiswick! Ask Marlow, or Westbury, or another of your flirts! The lord knows you’ve plenty of ‘em! Why choose me?”

“She is afraid they wouldn’t keep the line,” said Letty demurely.

Before the Viscount could reply Mr. Fancot rather unexpectedly entered into the discussion. “Shouldn’t wonder at it if she was right,” he said. “Masquerades, you know! Ramshackle! Ought to go with her la’ship!”

“What the deuce do you know about masquerades, Corny?” demanded Dysart. “You never went to one in your life!”

“Yes, I did,” asserted Mr. Fancot. “I went with you, Dy! Well, I wouldn’t let my sister go to one alone. What I mean is, I wouldn’t if I had one. Had a sister, I mean,” he added, becoming a little flustered, as Letty giggled.

“Covent Garden!” exclaimed Dysart scornfully. “I should think not indeed! But this affair will be quite another thing. Pretty insipid, I should think. Why do you go to it?”

“You see, it is the first masquerade Letty has attended, and so she wishes particularly to go,” Nell explained.

“Yes, and, what is more, I am quite determined to go,” corroborated Letty. “I collect you don’t mean to be so obliging as to escort us, which doesn’t surprise me above a very little, because of all imaginable persons I think brothers to be by far the most disagreeable!”

“Letty, that is not just!” exclaimed Nell. “You have no cause to say so, and I assure you I have none either!” She smiled lovingly up at the Viscount. “Don’t come, if you had rather not! At my cousin’s party I can’t need an escort, after all.”

However, the Viscount, either from perversity, or from a sense of obligation, said, with a darkling look at Letty, that if his sister was set on attending the masquerade he would certainly accompany her. He added, with an austerity which accorded ill with his rakish appearance, that if it suited Cardross’s notions of propriety to allow Nell to go alone to such parties that was where he must join issue with his lordship. He then, most unhandsomely, rode off before either lady could counter this charge. Nell was merely distressed that he should think her husband neglectful, but Letty, who reserved to herself the right to criticize Cardross, was extremely incensed, and charged Mr. Fancot, lingering to make his adieux in form, with a rude message to him.

“Though, to be sure, I don’t know why I should put myself to the trouble of fighting Giles’s battles “ she observed, as Mr. Fancot left them, and Nell told her coachman to drive on. “I am persuaded he would never fight mine!”

She encountered a very direct look from Nell’s soft blue eyes. Nell said quietly: “You must not say so. It is quite untrue, and you know it!”

Letty sighed. “Well, I didn’t mean precisely that, but you must own that no one was ever more unsympathetic than Giles. It is so unkind of him to take poor Jeremy in aversion! I had not believed he could be so proud, or care so much for consequence, or so little for my happiness!”

“It isn’t that! Indeed, it is not, Letty! He doesn’t dislike Mr. Allandale, and as for caring about his consequence you know he has said that if you are still of the same mind in a—in a year or two, he will not then refuse his consent. It is your happiness which he thinks of. I don’t say that he likes the match, for although Mr. Allandale’s situation in life is respectable, he is not your equal in station and there is a disparity between your fortunes which makes the marriage even more ineligible.”

“That is just what I have no patience with!” Letty said quickly. “If I were poor too it would be another matter! I don’t mean to say that I shouldn’t wish to marry Jeremy, for I should; but there would then be justice in Cardross’s objection! It is a melancholy reflection, Nell, but I fear I shouldn’t be a very good wife for a man in straitened circumstances. Of course I should endeavour to learn how to manage, but it is useless to deceive oneself: I don’t think I have any turn for economy!”

“No, alas, nor I!” agreed Nell, with a wry grimace.

“The thing is, we were not bred to it” said Letty profoundly. “But what does it signify, after all, when I shall be the mistress of a substantial fortune as soon as I come of full age?”

“I think the thing is that Cardross feels you are too young to be making up your mind just yet,” Nell said diffidently.

“Depend upon it, he would not say so if I wanted to marry a man of rank and fortune!” Letty said, her eyes kindling. “He did not think you too young when he offered for you, and I dare swear your papa did not either!”

“No,” admitted Nell.

“No! But if he had not been Cardross, your papa would have said so, even though he came of a very good family, and was in all respects a most superior man! It is all pride and pretension, and for my part I think it is detestable!”

“No, no, not that—not quite that!” Nell said. “I suppose he would wish you to make what is called a good match, but he has told me himself that if you are still of the same mind in a year or two—”

“He knows very well that in a year or two—and probably much sooner!—Jeremy will have been sent abroad. Indeed, Jeremy has the greatest hope, if all goes as he has reason to expect—But I mustn’t tell you! Pray don’t repeat it, Nell! He particularly desired me not to speak of it while nothing is yet settled.” She hesitated, and then slid an impulsive hand into Nell’s, and whispered: “One thing I must tell you! I believe—I hope—that he will shortly be calling in Grosvenor Square, to see Cardross. You may guess for what purpose! I should not be mentioning it to you, but oh, Nell, you will stand our friend, won’t you?”

“Well, I might,” said Nell, in whom a year’s intimacy with her sister-in-law had engendered a good deal of caution. “But not if you mean to do something outrageous!”

“Nothing of the sort!” declared Letty indignantly. “Unless, of course, Cardross drives me to it, and that I depend on you to prevent!”

“Oh, pray don’t!” begged Nell, alarmed. “If he won’t consent to your marriage, it is because he feels it would be wrong in him to do so, and how could I overcome such scruples, or—or even wish to overcome them? If only you will be a little patient! Once Cardross is satisfied that your affections are truly fixed—”

“When that day dawns, if ever it does, Jeremy may be thousands of miles distant!” Letty interrupted. “I shall have nothing to do then but to continue in patience until he returns to England—if he does return!”

“But naturally he will return!”

“Yes, but would you wager a groat on his doing so alone?” Letty retorted. “I would not! I don’t mean to say that he does not love me as much as I love him, but if he does not set eyes on me for years, besides being made up to by I daresay a dozen girls, or more, it would be wonderful indeed if he escaped being snatched up into matrimony with Another!”

Nell could find nothing to say. Her imagination boggled at the picture of Mr. Allandale being courted by a dozen (or even half-a-dozen) girls, but she prudently kept this reflection to herself, only venturing to ask, after a slight pause: “What made you fall in love with him, Letty? I don’t mean to say that he is not very amiable and civil, but—but—”

“I know precisely what you mean,” said Letty, with unexpected cordiality. “And I haven’t the smallest conjecture! If he had been like—oh, like your brother!—no one would have wondered at in the least: I shouldn’t myself! I assure you, I am quite as much surprised as anyone, for it is not as if I had never met any other gentlemen! When I lived with my aunt I met everyone who came to the house, for she was not at all stuffy, you know, and didn’t even try to keep Selina and me in the schoolroom. We knew all Maria’s and Fanny’s beaux, and some of them were pretty dashing, I can tell you! Only I never had the smallest tendre for any of them, until I met Jeremy. I don’t know how it was: it has me quite in a puzzle!” She bestowed a dazzling smile upon a natty young gentleman in a sporting curricle who was trying to attract her attention. “Now, if I had formed an attachment to him Cardross would have had cause to be cross!” she observed. “In fact, when you consider, Nell, the lures that are for ever being thrown out to me by all the most shocking court-cards on the town, on account of my being an heiress, I think it astonishing that Cardross should not be thankful my interest has been fixed by a man of principle and character! And if he supposes that Jeremy loves me for my fortune he much mistakes the matter!”

Cardross did not suspect Mr. Allandale of fortune-hunting, but when the promised visit was paid him, a few days later, he received his sister’s suitor with a cool civility that gave little promise of a yielding disposition.

Mr. Allandale was not a nervous man, but it was with considerable reluctance that he presented himself in Grosvenor Square. He prided himself on his level judgment, and although he did not set his own worth low every objection Cardross could raise to his pretensions was felt by him, and acknowledged to be just. His love for Letty bordered, in the opinion of his mother, on infatuation, but it had needed much persuasion from her to induce him to make Cardross a formal offer for her hand. The disparity between them of rank and fortune weighed heavily upon his spirit; he had felt from the outset that his suit was hopeless, and that his wiser course would be to keep out of Letty’s way, and try to put her from his mind. Unfortunately, noble resignation was not a virtue which in any way attracted Letty. When he spoke of parting she first burst into tears, which unmanned him; and then accused him of wanting to be rid of her, which made him utter some very ill-advised vows of eternal fidelity. After that there was no more talk of renunciation. Mr. Allandale did indeed speak sometimes of waiting, but with this plan also Letty was out of sympathy; and since he had never desired anything so passionately in the whole of his well-ordered life as to marry her he allowed himself to become infected with her optimism, and even began to think that perhaps Cardross might not prove so inimical to his suit after all, if he were approached in a manly and straightforward way.

This confidence, never very strong, waned as he trod up the steps of Cardross House, and wholly deserted him while he waited for the Earl in the book-room. His appearance was always characterized by a neatness and a propriety of taste which struck the happy mean between the man of fashion and the man of affairs, and he had spent more time than usual that morning on the arrangement of his neckcloth. But as the clock on the high mantelpiece rather aggressively ticked away the minutes he became convinced that the faint stripe in his toilinette waistcoat made him look like a park-saunterer, that his coat of sober blue cloth was too tightly moulded to his form, and that by brushing his mouse-coloured hair into the Brutus style affected by Mr. Brummell he had committed a gross error of judgment: Cardross would probably suspect him of aping the fashions of the dandy-set.

However, when the Earl at last came into the room he did not appear to notice what by this time amounted in Mr. Allandale’s mind to the blatant vulgarity of his waistcoat. On the other hand, his handsome, impassive countenance betrayed no sign of pleasure at sight of his visitor, and his greeting was courteous rather than cordial. Overcoming the sudden realization that his errand would certainly be regarded as a piece of presumption, Mr. Allandale opened the interview by saying with a stiffness engendered by his determination not to truckle to his siren’s guardian: “You may wonder, my lord, why I am here.”

“No,” said the Earl.

There was nothing particularly daunting about this calm monosyllable, but it threw Mr. Allandale quite out of his stride. His carefully composed speech of explanation had to be abandoned, and he could not immediately decide what to say in its stead.

“Pray be seated, Mr. Allandale!” invited his host, himself strolling towards a chair.

Mr. Allandale hesitated. On the whole, he preferred to remain on his feet, but it was difficult to do so while the Earl sat at his ease, one leg, cased in an elegant Hessian boot, thrown over the other, and one hand even now raising his quizzing-glass to his eye. Mr. Allandale sat down, and cleared his throat. “I shall be brief,” he stated. “It cannot, I fancy, be unknown to your lordship that I have been so fortunate as to engage the interest of Lady Letitia Merion.”

A flicker of amusement crossed the Earl’s eyes. “I understand that the violence of your mutual feelings is such as must melt all but the hardest of hearts. Mine, I am informed, is of marble.”

Colouring, Mr. Allandale replied: “I am aware, my lord, that the affection I bear Lady Letitia must appear to you in the light of an encroaching fancy.”

“Oh, no!” said Cardross. “I am really not as high in the instep as you seem to think. I don’t deny that I should prefer her to make what passes in the world for a good match, but, I assure you, if your affections stand the test of time you won’t find me ill-disposed towards you.”

This very reasonable speech added nothing to Mr. Allandale’s comfort. He said heavily: “I’m obliged to you, sir. I might remind you that the attachment between us was formed more than a year ago, and has but been strengthened by the passage of time, but I shall not do so.”

“As we see,” murmured Cardross dryly.

“The force of your objection is fully felt by me,” continued Mr. Allandale, embarking on one of his rehearsed periods. “It might well be thought that Lady Letitia is as yet too young to be permitted to follow the dictates of her heart. Moreover, no one is more conscious than I that in so doing she would be held, in vulgar parlance, to have thrown herself away.”

“Yes, well, do let us talk in vulgar parlance!” begged Cardross. “Not to wrap the matter up in clean linen my sister is a foolish chit with a turn for the high-romantical; and you, my dear sir, are not very much wiser! Her fortune apart—and you need not tell me that you wish her fortune at Jericho, because I acquit you of hanging out for a rich wife—I can conceive of few more unsuitable partners for a man in your position. You have your career before you: I wish you very well, and in proof of this can only advise you not to saddle yourself with an extravagant and shatterbrained little puss for a wife!”

Considerably taken-aback by this forthright speech, Mr. Allandale could think of nothing better to say than: “Am I to understand, then, that you refuse your consent to our betrothal, sir?”

“For the present, most certainly you are!” returned the Earl. “You look to be a man of sense, so you will not, I hope, accuse me of cruelty. I have not said, nor shall I, that I will never give my consent; I don’t even say that you must wait until Letty comes of age. But do, I beg of you, consider my position in this! Can you feel that I should honourably have fulfilled my charge if I allowed a chit who has not yet reached her eighteenth year to tie herself up in matrimony to a young man in your circumstances?”

“No,” said Mr. Allandale bleakly.

The Earl was conscious of an impulse to retract, even to bestow his blessing on the lovers. He quelled it, saying cheerfully: “Of course you cannot! But if, in a couple of years’ time, you are both still of the same mind, and you come to me again with this proposal, I must be hardhearted indeed to refuse my consent.”

“I do not anticipate being in England in a couple of years’ time,” said Mr. Allandale, more bleakly still. “It was my intention to have explained to your lordship at the outset that I was emboldened to come to you today by the circumstance of my having been appointed to a very advantageous post. I owe this advancement in part to the kind offices of Lord Roxwell, who was formerly much attached to my father; and I have every reason to expect that it will lead, should I acquit myself creditably, to more rapid promotion than has hitherto seemed probable.”

“I am sure you will acquit yourself admirably, and must beg leave to congratulate you on your good fortune. I collect that you are to join one of our embassies?”

“Yes, sir. I am appointed—that is to say, I shall, within the next three months be appointed to the staff of our minister at the Court of the Regent of Portugal.”

“The Regent of Portugal?” repeated Cardross. “But he is in Brazil!”

Mr. Allandale inclined his head. “Just so, sir,” he agreed.

“Good God!” ejaculated Cardross. “Were you proposing in all seriousness to take Letty to South America? You must be mad!”

“She assures me,” said Mr. Allandale earnestly, “that she would like it above all things.”

“And what the devil do you imagine she knows about it?” demanded Cardross.

“I am credibly informed,” offered Mr. Allandale, “that the climate at Rio de Janeiro is salubrious.”

“Oh, take a damper!” said Cardross impatiently. “Did this cork-brained notion come out of your head, or hers? Did she persuade you to come here today, or—No, of course she did! You at least cannot have supposed that there was the least likelihood of my consenting to such a preposterous scheme!”

“No,” said Mr. Allandale. “I must own that I had little hope of obtaining your lordship’s consent. I am aware that in your eyes the scheme must seem preposterous.”

“And how does it seem in yours?” inquired the Earl curiously. “You have been acquainted with my sister for more than a year, after all!”

“Were it not for your lordship’s refusal to entertain my proposal, I should have no hesitation in asking Lady Letitia to accompany me, as my wife, to Brazil.”

“The devil you wouldn’t!”

“I believe her to be equal to anything,” said Mr. Allandale reverently. “When I first learned of the appointment, I confess that the very natural feeling of delight I experienced was instantly tempered—I might almost say dissipated—by the same doubt of which your lordship is conscious. I could not believe that a delicately nurtured female—and one, moreover, of such tender years—could contemplate without dismay the several evils attaching to the appointment. The discomforts of a long sea-voyage! the going amongst foreigners! The separation from her relations! I promise you, sir, every disagreeable possibility that presented itself to my mind was at once communicated to her by me. But nothing was ever like her spirit! What inconveniences there may be she will not regard; and although I do not anticipate that there is any danger to be apprehended, that she would meet with the same trust and courage which she shows in being willing to bestow her hand upon one whose prosperity must depend upon his own exertions!”

The thought of this nobility overcame him so much that his voice thickened, and he was obliged to blow his nose. Its effect upon Cardross was to exasperate him into saying, with a snap: “I suppose she told you so!”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Allandale simply.

“Did she also work on you to come here today with your fantastic proposal?”

“She certainly thought that with my advancement now secured we might hope for some relenting on your part,” admitted Mr. Allandale.

The Earl looked him over somewhat grimly. “But you did not think so, Mr. Allandale, did you?”

“Well—”

“It appears to me, my dear sir, that you are as wax in my sister’s hands! It is a reflection which fills me with deep misgiving. I know Letty to be as headstrong as she is bird-witted, and what she may next bully or bewitch you into doing there is no saying—though I might hazard a guess!”

“If you mean, sir, that I might be tempted to elope with Lady Letitia you may be easy!” returned Mr. Allandale, reddening. “Even if I were not a man of honour, my circumstances must forbid me to embark on anything of a clandestine nature.” He drew a breath, and continued with a little difficulty: “You were kind enough, my lord, to acquit me of hanging out (as you phrased it) for a rich wife. That is true, for, in fact, I had not, until I met Lady Letitia, any thought of marriage at all. My widowed parent, though possessed of a respectable jointure, is quite unable to support the expense of educating my younger brothers and sisters without my assistance; and until they are established creditably I must not—indeed, I cannot!—marry a female who has no fortune of her own. Just a genteel fortune, to match my own. I never contemplated marriage to a great heiress—and, to own the truth, it is not what I like! However, I daresay it may be possible to form some kind of a trust which would ensure that I should not benefit by anything more than a reasonable amount.”

“The matter is not of pressing importance,” said the Earl. “Until she reaches the age of five-and-twenty my sister’s fortune is in my hands, and her allowance is at my discretion. If I chose to do it, I could cut off every penny of it.”

“I cannot believe, sir, that you would be guilty of such inhumanity!” said Mr. Allandale, in a voice of strong censure.

“There would be no inhumanity,” replied Cardross coolly. “Letty would merely be obliged to continue living in my house, and her dress-bills would be paid by me. I may add that I already pay quite a number of them. I am afraid you would find her very expensive, for she never has a feather to fly with, you know.”

“I am aware that she has not been taught habits of economy,” said Mr. Allandale stiffly. “Indeed, she has told me so herself, and has regretted it. She is very willing to learn, and I hope to teach her to manage better.”

“Yes, in my more optimistic moments I too indulge that hope,” agreed Cardross. “Go and take up this appointment of yours, and I’ll engage to do my best to instill some small knowledge of economy into her head while you are away. Who knows? You may return to find her quite prudent!”

Mr. Allandale rose, and walked over to the window. He said, staring out of it: “I do not imagine that it will be of any use to return. Not, of course, that I contemplate passing the rest of my life in Brazil, but—” He stopped, and cleared his throat. “I cannot flatter myself that I shall find her still unattached. So much sought-after—and by men of far greater address than will ever be mine—separated from me for a prolonged period, and by such a distance—No, it would be too much to expect of her! She will wed another.”

“The same fate may as easily overtake you, my dear sir,” remarked the Earl.

“No,” said Mr. Allandale baldly. He added, after a pause: “My feeling is unalterable. I am not subject to fits of gallantry, sir. I had even believed myself to be proof against—But from the moment when I first saw your sister, I knew myself lost! I struggled against it, for the unsuitability of the match was as plain to me as it is to you. It was to no avail. I shall never marry any other lady.”

“Ah!” murmured the Earl, looking amused. “I remember that I said much the same thing myself—a good many years ago. She was ravishingly beautiful—at least, I know I thought so, though, to own the truth, I can now only vaguely recall her face to my mind.”

“I am happy to afford your lordship entertainment!” said Mr. Allandale, in rather less measured accents.

“No, you are not,” replied Cardross, rising. “You would like to plant me a facer, and I’m sure I don’t wonder at it. Nothing is more exasperating than to be obliged to listen to advice based on experience which is necessarily wider than your own—particularly when you have an uneasy suspicion that it may be good!”

“I have no suspicion,” instantly retorted Mr. Allandale. “I venture to think that my nature is more tenacious than your lordship’s!”

“In that case,” said Cardross, with unimpaired good-humor, “I shall expect to see you again upon your return from Rio de Janeiro. In the meantime, accept my best wishes for your success in that salubrious locality!”

“Do you forbid me to hold further communication with Lady Letitia, sir?” demanded Mr. Allandale, somewhat reluctantly taking the hand that was being held out to him.

“My dear sir, do let me assure you that I am neither so gothic nor so cork-brained! I daresay you will meet Letty at any number of parties. As for clandestine meetings, I am persuaded that your sense of propriety must be safeguard enough.”

“Anything of a clandestine nature is repugnant to me,” stated Mr. Allandale. “I can only beg of you, sir, to consider well before you blight, perhaps for ever, the happiness of two persons, one of whom is—or should be—dear to you! I reject—indeed, I scorn!—your suggestions of inconstancy, but too well do I know the arts that are employed in the world of fashion to detach from an unworthy object the affections of such as Lady Letitia! All is sacrificed to pride and consequence! If I were in more affluent circumstances, I believe no considerations of propriety could avail to prevent me—But it serves no purpose to continue talking!”

“None whatsoever,” agreed Cardross, leading the way to the door. “It might even lead me to take you in dislike, and that, you know, would be fatal to your chances!”