April Lady

Chapter Six

Rescued from the perils of Clarges Street, and restored to the shelter of her own house, Nell hardly knew whether to be grateful to Mr. Hethersett for having thrust a spoke in her wheel, or resentful. When the moment had come for knocking on Mr. King’s door she had certainly been extremely reluctant to do so, and had suffered very much the same sensations as if she had been about to have a tooth drawn; but her dependence now was all on Dysart, whom she had not seen since the night of the masquerade, and who might, for anything she knew, have taken a pet at having his ingenious plot frustrated, or (which was even more likely) have forgotten all about her troubles. She and Letty were going to the Opera that evening, where it was extremely improbable that she would meet him; so she wrote a letter to him, telling him how urgent her need had become, and begging him he would call in Grosvenor Square.

She had hardly dispatched this missive, by the hand of her footman, when Letty came in. In general, when Letty went shopping, she returned laden with parcels, and eager to display to her sister-in-law a collection of expensive frivolities which had happened to catch her eye; but on this occasion she had nothing to show but a disconsolate face. She said she had had a stupid morning, but when Nell asked if she had been unable to find a muslin she liked, she replied: “Oh, yes! Martha has it. I met my cousins, and went with them to Grafton House, all amongst the quizzy people. Selina would have me go, because she said there were amazing bargains to be had there. I must say, they had a great many muslins. I chose a checked one, but I daresay I shan’t like it above half when it is made up. It cost seven shillings the yard, too, and I don’t consider that a bargain, do you?”

“No, but checked muslin is always dearer than the plain colours. I hope the Miss Thornes are quite well?” Nell said politely.

“Yes—at least, I didn’t enquire. Selina seemed pretty stout. Fanny was gone with my aunt to Mrs. Mee, to arrange to have her likeness taken. They are persuaded Humby means to come to the point, and Selina says my aunt and uncle are in transports, though I can’t think why they should be, for he presents a very off appearance, don’t you think? besides having some odd humours.”

“I don’t know that. I believe he is very respectable,” Nell responded, wondering whether her cousin’s approaching betrothal was accountable for the clouded look on Letty’s vivid little face. “I collect it was Mrs. Thistleton, then, who was with Miss Selina Thorne?”

“Yes, and I can tell you I was soon wishing her at the deuce!” said Letty, with a disgusted pout. “She is increasing, and bent on telling the whole of London! You would suppose no one had ever before been in her situation, for she can talk of nothing else! And then what must we do but walk into Lady Eastwell! She expects to be confined next month, and nothing could be like her simperings and sighings and affectations! Sir Godfrey is aux anges over the petit paquet she means to present to him. Petit paquet! Un très grand paquet, I should think, for I never saw anyone so large! I was vexed to death, dawdling along in her company, and being obliged to listen to such insipid stuff! And Maria at least was used to be the most entertaining creature! I do hope you won’t turn into a bothersome bore when you start increasing, Nell!”

The colour rushed up into Nell’s cheeks; she said: “I hope not, indeed!” but in a constricted voice, for Letty’s careless words had touched her on the raw. It was some months since Lady Pevensey, tearing herself away from her stricken lord to visit her daughter, had soothed an anxiety which was even then teasing Nell. “Think nothing of it, dearest!” she had said, adding, with simple pride: “You are like me, and you know I had been married for three years before dear Dysart was born.”

Nell had been comforted; and although the prospect of being obliged to wait for three years before she gave Cardross an heir was dismal, it was permissible to indulge the hope that she might find herself in an interesting situation considerably earlier than had Mama. And since Cardross, neither by word nor by look, gave the least sign of disappointment, and her mind was pleasantly occupied with the manifold gaieties of fashionable life, she had not thought very much about it. But Letty’s petulant remark was ill-timed: her quite uninteresting situation now seemed to Nell of a piece with all the rest of her iniquities. She was proving herself to be in every way a deplorable wife: foolish, deceitful, spendthrift, and barren!

Fortunately, since her deep blush betrayed her, Letty had picked up the latest number of the Ladies’ Magazine, and was contemptuously flicking over the pages, and commenting disparagingly on the fashions depicted in this valuable periodical, so that Nell had time in which to recover her countenance.

“Good heavens, I never saw anything so dowdy! . . . Slate-coloured twilled sarsnet, lined with white—what a figure to make of oneself! . . . Do these new Bishop-sleeves hit your fancy? I don’t think them pretty at all, and as for this evening gown, with French braces over the bodice—!”

“I liked the picture of the pelisse, with the round cape,” Nell said, trying to infuse her voice with interest.

“For my part, I think it no more than tolerable. Unless one is a regular Long Meg, those capes make one appear positively squat! Hair-brown merino, too! Horridly drab!” Letty cast the Ladies’ Magazine aside, and, after hesitating for a moment, said, in a voice whose carelessness was a little studied: “By the by, I shall have to cry off going with you to Somerset House tomorrow, Nell. Selina has been telling me that my aunt is hipped because I have not been to visit her quite lately, and is saying she had not thought I could show such a want of affection, or have my head turned so utterly that I don’t any longer care to be with her. You know how it is with her! She is cast into raptures, or down in a minute. So, if you do not very particularly wish to look at pictures tomorrow—I daresay they will be a dead bore, too!—I think I should go to my aunt’s, and make her comfortable again.”

Nell agreed to it, thought she might, had she been less preoccupied, have wondered at Letty’s sudden concern for Mrs. Thorne’s comfort. That Mrs. Thorne might be piqued by a lack of proper observance could surprise no one who knew Letty, for without having the least ill-nature, or want of disposition to render attention where it was due, she had never been taught to consider the feelings of others, or to consult any convenience but her own. Having so easily won Nell’s acquiescence, she took herself off to her own bedchamber, there to peruse for the third time the very disturbing letter she had received from Mr. Allandale.

Nell waited in vain for Dysart to put in an appearance that afternoon. Her footman brought back no answer to her note, his lordship having gone out. No, his lordship’s man had not been able to say when he expected him to return.

His lordship did not return to his rooms, in fact, until an advanced hour of the day; and since he was engaged to dine at Watier’s, with a select company of his intimates, and afterwards to try his luck at that most exclusive of gaming-clubs, it was rather too much to expect him to keep the best dinner in town waiting while he danced attendance in Grosvenor Square. A fortunate bet had (as he phrased it) brought the dibs into tune again, and encouraged him to think that a long run of bad luck had come to an end. With a little ready to sport on the table there was no saying but what he might by the end of the evening be in a position to settle any number of damned dressmakers’ bills, and through no more exertion than was required to cast, instead of the worst chances in the game, a few winning nicks. Inured by custom to all the stratagems known to creditors, he considered that Madame Lavalle’s story of being about to put herself out of the way of collecting the monies due to her was a piece of gammon. In his experience, no creditor ever put himself out of the way of collecting money. Having pursued a precarious course for some years, he was not at all alarmed by duns, and thought that Nell was being more than commonly gooseish. However, he was fond of her, and if she was as sick with apprehension as her letter seemed to indicate he would not, on the following morning, grudge an hour spent in soothing her alarms. Moreover, the morning might find him out of ebb-water, and hosed and shod again, for it was nothing for a man enjoying a run of luck to win three or four thousand pounds in one night’s sitting at the Great Go.

It might have been thought that a club where the minimum stake was double the sum fixed at any other gaming establishment, and the play was known to be tremendous, was scarcely the place for a young blood, living on an inadequate allowance and a grossly encumbered expectation. The Viscount’s well-wishers shook their heads over it, but they could scarcely blame him for playing there, since he had become a member of the club under the auspices of his own father. In general an indifferent parent, Lord Pevensey every now and then awoke to a sense of his responsibilities. Finding that his heir, after an adventurous period at Oxford, had established himself in London and was about to make his debut in fashionable circles, he had felt that it behoved him to do what lay within his power to launch him into society. He introduced him to White’s and to Watier’s; franked him into the subscription-room at Tattersall’s; pointed out to him certain individuals whose business in life it was to diddle the dupes; recommended him to let none but Weston make his coats; advised him to purchase his hats at Baxter’s, and to have his boots made by Hoby; and warned him of the dangers of offering a carte blanche to too highflying an Incognita. He was obliging enough to instruct his son in some of the signs by which he might recognize, amongst the muslin company, those prime articles who might be depended on to ease a protector of all his available blunt; and to counsel him strongly not to visit any but the highest class Academies. After that, and feeling that he had left nothing undone to ensure for the Viscount a prosperous career, he cast off his parental responsibilities, which had by that time begun to bore him very much, and left his son to his own devices.

Watier’s, which was situated on the corner of Bolton Street and Piccadilly, in an unpretentious house which had once been a gaming establishment of quite a different order, was generally supposed to owe its existence to the Prince Regent. Watier had been one of his cooks, but the Prince, upon learning from some of his friends that a good dinner was not to be had at any of the London clubs, had conceived the benevolent notion of providing gentlemen of high ton with a dining-club not just in the common style, and had suggested to Watier that he was the very man to carry out this pleasing design. The idea took; in partnership with two other of the royal servants Mr. Watier embarked on the venture, and prospered so well that within a very few years he was able to retire from active participation in the business of running the club. By that time what had begun as a dining-club, with excellent cooking, carefully chosen wines, and harmonic assemblies as its attractions, had blossomed into the most exclusive as well as the most ruinous of all London’s gaming clubs. The dinners, under the surveillance of Mr. Augustus Labourie, continued to be the best that could be had in town; it had a bank of ten thousand pounds; Mr. Brummell was its perpetual president; and to be admitted to membership was the object of every aspirant to fashion. Play began at nine o’clock, and continued all night, the principal games being hazard, and macao: a form of vingt-un introduced into England by the émigrés from France, and still enjoying a considerable vogue.

The Viscount, after an evening devoted to faro, had not found that this alteration in his habits answered as well as he had hoped it might; and when he rose from a very convivial dinner he resisted all attempts to lure him into the macao-room. He would give the bones another chance, he said, for he had a strong presentiment that fortune was at last about to favour him. So, indeed, it seemed. Being set twenty pounds, and naming seven as the main, he threw eleven, nicking it, which promised well for the night’s session. Even Mr. Fancot, who had been trying to lose money to him for months and had begun to despair of achieving his ambition, felt hopeful.

From the circumstance of the Prince Regent’s holding one of his bachelor parties at Carlton House that evening, the club was rather thin of company. Mr. Hethersett, strolling in at midnight, found the macao-room deserted by all but a collection of persons who figured in his estimation either as prosy old stagers or tippies on the strut. He took a look-in at those intent on hazard, but here again the company failed to attract him, and he was just about to leave the premises when he was suddenly smitten by an idea. It was not a very welcome idea, nor did he look forward with the least degree of pleasure to the putting of it into action, but it was the best that had occurred to him during the course of a day largely devoted to wrestling with the problem of Lady Cardross’s financial difficulties.

The more he considered this matter the greater had grown his uneasiness, for the mild tendre he felt for Nell did not lead him to place any very firm trust in her promise to keep away from usurers. A just man, he was obliged to own that if she dared not confess her debts to Cardross no other solution than to borrow upon interest suggested itself. In his opinion, she was magnifying Cardross’s wrath rather absurdly. It was unlikely that he would hear the confession with complaisance, but he was not only a man very much in love; he was also a man of generous temper, and a good deal more than common sense. No one would be quicker to make allowance for youth and inexperience; and although there could be little doubt that he had forbidden Nell to keep her brother in funds Mr. Hethersett had still less doubt that he would understand, and even sympathize with, the very natural feelings which had led her to disobey him. He would know how to put a stop to such practices, too; and that was something that ought to be done immediately, if Nell was not to founder at the last in a morass of debt and deception. Cardross would pardon her now with no loss of tenderness, but if he discovered in the future that she had been playing an undergame with him, perhaps for years, the very openness of his disposition would cause him to regard her with revulsion.

Mr. Hethersett, gloomily pondering, had reached the conclusion that although it would be of some advantage if his cousin were to be put in possession of the facts by almost any agency, the only happy outcome to the affair would be for Nell herself to make the disclosure. But when he had urged her to do so she had recoiled from the suggestion, and had begged him in considerable agitation not to betray her to Cardross. The suspicion had crossed his mind that all might not be so well with that marriage as appeared on the surface. Thinking it over, it occurred to him that the couple were not as often in company together as might have been expected. It was not, of course, in good ton for a man to live in his wife’s pocket; but the cynicism which had prompted the higher ranks of the previous generation to regard marriage as a means of advancement or convenience was going out of fashion. Amongst his father’s contemporaries, Mr. Hethersett knew of more than one man who could never be sure how many of his lady’s offspring had been fathered by himself; while the number of middle-aged couples of the first stare who never willingly spent as much as half an hour together was past counting. But that sort of thing was going out of fashion. Love-matches were being indulged in by persons of consequence; and public signs of affection, instead of being thought intolerably bourgeois, were even smiled on. Mr. Hethersett, whose fastidiousness had lately been offended by the sight of a newly-married pair seated side by side on a small sofa with their heads together at an evening party, was inclined to think that the pendulum was swinging too far, and he certainly did not expect Cardross to behave with such a want of breeding. At the same time, he did sometimes wonder that Nell, married to a man who had not only chosen her, for love, from amongst a dozen more eligible ladies, but was also possessed of a charm which made him generally fascinating to females, should so frequently appear in public either unescorted, or with some quite inferior gallant at her side. There was nothing to take exception to in that, of course; and never anything in her manner towards her admirers to encourage the most inveterate seekers after crim. cons to suspect her of having formed a guilty attachment. Mr. Hethersett was pretty well persuaded that she had no eyes for any man but Cardross: he had seen them light up when his cousin had unexpectedly entered a room where she was sitting. No: he did not think that if anything had gone amiss with the marriage it arose from any lack of affection. He recollected having heard it said that in love-matches even more than marriages of convenience the first year was often one of tiffs and misunderstandings, and decided that so much profound cogitation was leading him to refine too much upon the couple’s public conduct. But if there had been disagreements, Mr. Hethersett, knowing just how formidable his cousin could be when he was angered, could readily understand the reluctance of his very young bride to confide her sins to him. It would be useless to press her to do so, he thought; but having reached this conclusion he found himself at a stand, for there was no one other than herself who could tell Cardross of the fix she was in without setting up his back.

But just as he was about to leave the hazard-room, Dysart, who had been too deeply concerned with the fall of the dice to notice his entrance, happened to look up, and to see him. He called a careless greeting, and on the instant Mr. Hethersett was smitten by his idea.

If he could be persuaded to do it, Dysart was the one person who could tell Cardross, unexceptionably, even, perhaps, with advantage, the truth. Mr. Hethersett had no doubt at all that Nell’s debts had been incurred on his behalf, and very little that a frank confession made by him of the whole would win plenary absolution for Nell, and in all probability pecuniary assistance for himself. It would be an easy matter for him to convince Cardross that Nell had yielded only to his urgent entreaties; and Cardross would be swift to recognize and to appreciate the courage that enabled him to perform so unpleasant a duty. Only, did he possess that courage? Mr. Hethersett, joining the scattering of lookers-on gathered round the table, glanced speculatively at him, considering the matter. Physical courage he certainly possessed to a pronounced degree; but in spite of taking a perverse pride in being thought a Care-for-Nobody he had not as yet given anyone reason to suppose that he had any strength of moral character. Mr. Hethersett, several years his senior and a man of a different kidney, was not one of his friends, and even less one of his admirers, but he did him the justice to acknowledge that although he was a resty young blade, decidedly loose in the haft, incorrigibly spendthrift, and ready at any moment to plunge into whatever extravagant folly was suggested to him by his impish fancy, he had never been known, even in his most reckless mood, to step over the line that lay between the venial peccadilloes of a wild youth and such questionable exploits as must bring his name into dishonour. He was both generous and goodnatured, and Mr. Hethersett rather thought that he held his sister in considerable affection. He knew, too, that Cardross, better acquainted with him, and increasingly exasperated by his starts, by no means despaired of him. Without going to the length of forecasting for him a future distinguished by sobriety or solvency, he said that if a cornetcy could but be provided for him he would find an outlet for his restless energy, and might do tolerably well.

“He may be a scamp,” said Cardross, “but there’s no sham in him—nothing of the dry-boots! It would give me great pleasure to go sharply to work with him—but he’s pluck to the backbone, and I own I like that.”

Mr. Hethersett had a great respect for his cousin’s judgment, and, remembering these words, he made up his mind to have at least a touch at Dysart. Since the task was not one he looked forward to with relish, he thought that the sooner it was accomplished the better it would be, and decided that unless Dysart arose from the table a loser he would broach the matter that very day. From the flush in the Viscount’s cheeks, and the over-brightness of his eyes, he had at first glance supposed him to be a trifle foxed; but he soon realized that for once he had wronged him. The Viscount, whose exuberance could lead him to become top-heavy at almost any hour of the day, was by far too keen a gamester to join a gaming-table when in his altitudes. There was certainly a glass at his elbow, but the brandy it held sank hardly at all during the time Mr. Hethersett stood watching the play, and from time to time making his bet on the odds monotonously declared by the groom-porter.

The table broke up at a comparatively early hour, even the Viscount agreeing, after a series of throw-outs, that the game had become languid and boring. He did not rise a loser, but his winnings were not large. However, when one of the company joked him about his uncertain luck, saying that he would be obliged to go back to faro after all, he replied cheerfully that only a muttonhead could have been blind to the signs of reviving fortune that night. “Not a vowel of mine on the table!” he said.

“And upwards of forty guineas in your purse!” added Mr. Fancot encouragingly. “To my mind, that clinches it, Dy: stick to the bones!”

“Yes, I think I shall,” agreed Dysart. “Dashed if I won’t try my luck at this new house Jack was talking to me about! I remember my father’s telling me once that he often found it answered to shift one’s ground.”

Lord Pevensey’s notorious unsuccess as a gamester notwithstanding, everyone, except Mr. Hethersett, thought that the Viscount could hardly do better than follow his advice, only one slightly muddled gentleman demurring that no one should play at a hell who was not up to the sharps. But as he became hopelessly incoherent in his subsequent attempt to illustrate this remark by recounting the sad history of a flat who went from a nibble at a club to a dead hit at a hell, no one paid any heed to him.

The morning light was faintly illumining the scene when the party dispersed on the steps of the club. Mr. Hethersett, who knew that it might be days before he again found the opportunity to approach Dysart, considerably surprised him by suggesting that they should bear one another company on the way to their respective lodgings. “Duke Street, isn’t it?” he said. “Take a look in at my place, and play off your dust! All on our way, and the night’s young yet.”

Dysart looked at him, suspecting him of being slightly mellow. He showed no sign of it, but Dysart, perfectly well aware of his disapprobation, could think of no other reason to account for his sudden friendliness. Before he had had time to answer him, Mr. Fancot, who lived in St. James’s Square, and had sent the porter out to procure a hackney, generously offered to take both him and Mr. Hethersett up, and to set them down again at their lodgings.

“Very much obliged to you,” responded Mr. Hethersett, a shade of annoyance in his face. “Think I’ll walk, however. Devilish stuffy in the club tonight: need a breath of air!” He met the Viscount’s alert, speculative gaze, and said curtly: “Got something to tell you!”

“Have you though?” said Dysart, considerably intrigued. “Ill go along with you, then!”

They left the club together, but were overtaken almost immediately by a gregarious gentleman, who fell into step with them, saying chattily that since his destination was in King Street he would walk with them. His company was accepted cheerfully by Dysart, and by Mr. Hethersett, who foresaw that he would be difficult to shake off, with resignation. It would be a hard task to avoid the necessity of including him in his invitation to Dysart, but he was determined to do it, however much it went against the grain with him to appear inhospitable.

He managed to perform this feat at the cost of standing patiently at the corner of Ryder Street and St. James’s, while the Viscount and Mr. Wittering maintained for twenty minutes an argument which had been started before the party had crossed over to the south side of Piccadilly. It was pursued with considerable animation, and it afforded Mr. Hethersett, mildly contributing his mite whenever he was granted the opportunity, with a novel view of the Viscount. The victory of Bonaparte at Lützen over General Wittgenstein, commanding the combined forces of Russia and Prussia, had not long been known in London, and was still being much discussed. Shaking his head over the disaster, Mr. Wittering expressed the opinion that there was no doing anything against Boney, and never would be. Since this pessimism was shared by many, such remarks having been heard for years past at any social gathering, Mr. Hethersett did not think it worth while to reply. It was otherwise with the Viscount. He was ready to agree that none of the foreign generals could have the smallest hope of defeating Boney, but he recommended Mr. Wittering to wait and see how quickly Wellington would knock him into flinders. Mr. Wittering said disparagingly that a victory or two in Spain made no odds; the Viscount instantly offered to bet a monkey that the English army would be over the Pyrenees before the year was out; and the argument rapidly became heated. Mr. Wittering, no supporter of the Wellesleys, was unwise enough to say that Wellington’s victories had been exaggerated; and within a very few minutes was not only being dragged relentlessly through the previous year’s campaigns, but was being given a lesson in strategy into the bargain. To Mr. Hethersett’s surprise, the Viscount, whom he had always supposed to be perfectly feather-headed, not only appeared to be passionately interested in the subject, but had very obviously studied it with some thoroughness. Mr. Wittering, on the retreat, acknowledged that Wellington was a good defensive general, but added that he was too cautious, and had no brilliance in attack.

“No brilliance in attack?” demanded the Viscount. “After Salamanca?”

“Well, I don’t know about Salamanca,” said Mr. Wittering unguardedly. “All I say is—”

But the Viscount cut him short. Mr. Hethersett, standing in patient boredom while armies maneuvered about him, and the Viscount drew invisible lines on the flagway with the point of his cane, reflected that it would henceforward be impossible for Mr. Wittering to say (if there was any truth in him) that he didn’t know about Salamanca. When Dysart, passing from the general to the particular, spoke of Le Marchant’s charge, he did so with so much enthusiasm that Mr. Hethersett was moved to say that he seemed to know as much about it as if he had taken part in it.

“By Jove, don’t I wish I had!” Dysart said impulsively.

“Well,” said Mr. Wittering, preparing to take his leave, “what you ought to do, Dy, is to join! I shouldn’t wonder at it if you got to be a general. You go and tell old Hook-nose what you want him to do! There’s no saying but what it might make him break up from cantonments before the summer’s over!”

With this Parthian shot, he went off down the street, leaving the Viscount to explain to Mr. Hethersett that the lack of news from Wellington’s headquarters undoubtedly presaged some brilliant move, probably in an unexpected direction. “Everyone thinks he means to march on Madrid again, but you mark my words if he don’t strike north! He’s kept his plans mighty dark this time, but I’ve been talking to a cousin of mine. You know my cousin Lionel?” Mr. Hethersett believed he had not that pleasure. “Been serving on one of our frigates,” said the Viscount. “Sent home a month ago, on sick-furlough. Plain as a pikestaff all those fellows have been warned to keep their mummers dubbed, but one thing he did let slip: we’ve been landing stores along the northern coast. You can say they’re for that guerilla-fellow, Longa, if you choose, but it don’t look like it to me. No need to keep the thing so dark if that’s all it is.”

Mr. Hethersett did not avail himself of this permission, but said instead, glancing curiously up at his tall companion’s profile: “Why don’t you join?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” replied Dysart, with a return to his customary insouciance. “I rather thought I should like to at one time, but I daresay I shouldn’t. Anyway, my father won’t hear of it.”

Mr. Hethersett did not pursue the matter. He could only be thankful that his question seemed to have cast a damper over the Viscount’s desire to fight past battles again. They had by this time reached his lodging. He ushered his guest into the comfortable parlour he rented on the entrance floor of the house, begged him to take a chair, and produced from a large sideboard a bottle of smuggled French cognac. “Eyewater?” he enquired. “Mix you a Fuller’s Earth, if you like it better; or I’ve got a pretty tolerable madeira here.”

The Viscount said he would take a drop of eye-water. He watched Mr. Hethersett pour some of the cognac into two heavy glasses, and remarked with engaging frankness that he was damned if he knew what Mr. Hethersett wanted with him. “Thought at first you must be a bit on the go, but you don’t seem to be,” he said.

Mr. Hethersett handed him one of the glasses. “Got something to tell you,” he replied briefly.

“You haven’t had a tip for the Chester races, have you?” asked Dysart hopefully.

“No: nothing like that.” Mr. Hethersett took a fortifying sip of brandy. “Awkward sort of business. Been teasing me all day.”

“It sounds to me like a dashed havey-cavey business!” said Dysart, eyeing him in astonishment.

“No, it ain’t exactly that, though I don’t mind telling you I’d as lief not break it to you,” said Mr. Hethersett, who was finding his self-imposed task even more difficult to accomplish than he had foreseen.

“Good God, you ain’t going to tell me you’ve been set on to tell me my father’s slipped his wind?” exclaimed Dysart, sitting up with a jerk.

“No, of course I haven’t!” said Mr. Hethersett, irritated. “Is it likely that I’d be the man to break that sort of news to you?”

“No, but if it comes to that you ain’t the man to invite me at half-past four in the morning either!” retorted Dysart. “It’s no use bamming me you’ve got a sudden fancy for my company, for I know dashed well you haven’t.”

“Never said anything of the sort. No objection to your company, mind, but it wasn’t that I wanted. The thing is, it’s a deuced delicate matter!”

“Well, I can’t guess what the devil it can be, but there’s no need to skirt around it!” said Dysart encouragingly. “In fact, I’d lief you cut line: I can stand a knock or two!”

Mr. Hethersett tossed off the rest of the brandy in his glass. “Concerns your sister,” he said.

The Viscount stared at him. “Concerns my sister?” he repeated. “What the devil—?”

“Didn’t think you’d like it,” said Mr. Hethersett, with a gloomy satisfaction in the accuracy of his prognostication. “Don’t like it myself. You know George Burnley?”

“What?” thundered the Viscount, setting his own glass down with such violence that he nearly broke it.

Mr. Hethersett winced, and protested. “No need to bellow at me!”

“No need to—What has that ginger-hackled court-card to do with my sister?” demanded the Viscount, a very dangerous light in his eyes.

“Hasn’t anything to do with her,” replied Mr. Hethersett, faintly surprised. “What’s more, though I don’t say he ain’t ginger-hackled, he ain’t a court-card. Friend of mine. Dashed if I know why you should get into a miff just because you’re asked if you’re acquainted with him!”

“You said it concerned my sister Cardross!”

“Didn’t say anything of the kind. At least, not about poor George. And if you weren’t the biggest gudgeon on the town you’d know I wouldn’t have said a word about it, if he had been concerned with her!” he added severely.

“Well, what has Burnley to do with it?” asked the Viscount mollified, but impatient.

“Gave him a look-in this morning. He lives in Clarges Street.”

“Yes, I know he does, and if that’s all you wanted to tell me—”

“Got a house opposite Jew King’s,” said Mr. Hethersett, contemplating his elegant snuff-box with rapt attention.

There was a momentary silence. “Go on!” said Dysart grimly.

Mr. Hethersett glanced up at him. “Well, that’s it,” he said apologetically. “Saw Lady Cardross. Recognized her bonnet. Heavily veiled—no need to fear George knew her!”

“Are you saying she went into Jew King’s place?”

“No. Meant to, but I stopped her.”

“I’m much obliged to you, then! Bird-witted little fool!” said Dysart savagely.

“Don’t have to be obliged to me: got a great regard for her! Besides, related to Cardross, you know! Dashed well had to stop her. Seemed to be all in a pucker. Very anxious I shouldn’t blab to Cardross. Well, stands to reason I shouldn’t!”

“No, my God! What did she tell you?”

“Just said she wanted a temporary loan. Something she was devilish anxious Cardross shouldn’t discover. Told her I wouldn’t say a word to Giles if she promised to give up the notion of borrowing from a cent-per-cent. So she did, but I ain’t easy. Made up my mind the best thing to do was to tell you, Dysart.”

The Viscount nodded, and got up. “Much obliged to you!” he said again. “I’ll give her pepper for this. I told her that was no way to raise the recruits—damme, I forbade her to, now I come to think of it! Promised her I’d see all tidy. I might have done it, too, if she hadn’t taken a distempered freak into her head. And why she should be cast into high fidgets only because she’s a trifle scorched I’m damned if I know. Anyone would think Cardross was going to discover it tomorrow! Unless I miss my tip, there’s no reason why he should ever know a thing about it, but it’s no use expecting me to raise the wind in the twinkling of an eye. But that’s women all over!”

He turned to pick up his great-coat. Mr. Hethersett watched him shrug himself into it. He was strongly tempted to let him go, but although he was not very hopeful of being able to prevail upon him to approach Cardross, he felt that it behoved him to make the attempt.

“Been thinking about it all day,” he said. “Seems to me Cardross ought to know of it.”

“Well, he ain’t going to,” replied Dysart shortly.

“Wouldn’t do if he were to get wind of it,” insisted Mr. Hethersett. “Wouldn’t like it, if he found her ladyship had been hoaxing him.”

“Now, don’t you start fretting and fuming!” begged Dysart. “I told my sister I’d settle it, and so I will!”

“No business of mine, of course, but how?” asked Mr. Hethersett.

“By hedge or by stile,” replied Dysart flippantly.

“It won’t fadge. All to pieces yourself. Daresay you’re thinking of a run of luck, but it ain’t when one’s run off one’s legs that one gets the luck: more likely to be physicked! Ever noticed that it’s pretty near always the best-breeched coves who win? Seems to me there’s only one way you can help Lady Cardross.”

Dysart looked at him with a slight frown creasing his brow. “Well, what is it?”

Mr. Hethersett took snuff with deliberation. “Best way out of the fix is for her to tell Cardross the whole. Tried to get her to do it, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Seemed to be in the deuce of a quake. No use telling her not the slightest need. Got the notion fixed in her head. I can’t tell him. The thing is for you to do it.”

“I tell Cardross my sister’s swallowed a spider, and is trying to break shins with Jew King?” gasped the Viscount. “Well, I thought you must be a trifle disguised when you asked me to come home with you, but I can see now that you’re either ape-drunk, or touched in your upper works!”

“No, I ain’t,” replied Mr. Hethersett stolidly. “I know it’s a dashed difficult thing to do: in fact, it needs a devilish good bottom, but they say you’ve got that.”

“Bottom! A damned whiddling disposition is all I’d need, and I’ll have you know that’s something I’ve not got!” Dysart shot at him. “Cry rope on my own sister? By God, if I hadn’t been drinking your brandy, damned if I wouldn’t tip you a settler, Hethersett!”

Mr. Hethersett was thrown into disorder. It was not that he particularly feared the Viscount’s fists, both of which were suggestively clenched; but that, in face of that fiery young man’s quick, wrath, the horrid suspicion assailed him that he had been doing him an injustice. This was a breach of ton the very thought of which made him turn pale. He hastened to make amends. “Beg you won’t give the brandy a thought!” he said. “Not that I wish to sport a painted peeper, but shouldn’t like you to feel yourself at a disadvantage. Boot might be on the other leg, too. What I mean is, not a thing I’m partial to, but I can mill my way out of a row.”

“I should like to know what the devil you mean by thinking I’m the sort of rum touch who—”

“Spoke under a misapprehension!” said Mr. Hethersett. “Took a notion into my head! Stupid thing to do!”

“What notion?” demanded the Viscount.

Mr. Hethersett, much embarrassed, coughed. Upon the question’s being repeated, with a good deal of emphasis, he said: “Couldn’t think why Lady Cardross should be afraid to tell my cousin she was in debt. Very well acquainted with Cardross, you know. Boys together. Ready to swear he’d give her anything she wanted. Might be in a tweak if she’d taken to gaming, but it can’t be that. I mean, she don’t know one card from another! Occurred to me that perhaps it was something Cardross wouldn’t allow.” He once more studied the design on his snuff-box. “Might even have forbidden it. Mind you, very understandable thing for her to do! Persuaded my cousin would think it so, too. Natural affection, I mean.”

“Are you saying you thought she was under the hatches because she’d lent her blunt to me?” demanded the Viscount.

“Only thing I could hit on!” pleaded Mr. Hethersett. “See I was mistaken, of course.”

The Viscount was just about to tell him extremely forcefully that so far from being responsible for Nell’s difficulties he had had nothing whatsoever to do with them when he suddenly remembered his own obligation to her. It was true that this had not put her in debt at the time; but it was equally true that it had made it impossible for her to pay, later, for a Chantilly lace court dress. For a moment he felt abominably ill-used. She had assured him that she was flush in the pocket; and it was rather too bad of her subsequently to run into debt, instead of exercising a little economy.

He eyed Mr. Hethersett smoulderingly. He had never liked the fellow above half, and to be unable to refute his ignoble suspicions made him seethe with rage. He wanted more than anything to plant him a facer, but since that also, under the circumstances, was impossible, he had to content himself with saying in a voice of ice: “Accept my thanks for your kind offices! And rest assured that you have no need to tease yourself further in the matter! I wish you good-night!”

With these dignified words he picked up his hat and cane, bowed stiffly to his host, and departed. Mr. Hethersett, closing the front door behind him, was left to mop his brow, and to wonder what would now be the outcome of the affair. Convinced of Dysart’s innocence, he was still profoundly skeptical of his ability to rescue his sister from the River Tick.