Bath Tangle

21

The start to the elopement was not altogether auspicious, for the bride was tardy, and the groom harassed. What had seemed to Gerard, after watching the first act of a romantic drama, a splendid scheme, he found, upon more sober reflection, to present several disagreeable aspects to his view. For one thing, he had no idea whether the marriage of two minors was any more legal in Scotland than in England, or whether it would be possible for it to be set aside. He told himself that once the knot was tied neither Rotherham nor his mother would choose to cause a scandal by intervening; and tried to think no more of the possibility. Instead, he reckoned up his resources, made a vague guess at the distance to be travelled, totted up post-charges, and, at the end of all these calculations, decided to sell his watch. Elopements to Gretna Green, he realized bitterly, were luxuries to be afforded only by men of substance, for not merely was one obliged to journey over three hundred miles to reach the Border: one was obliged to come all the way back again. This reflection brought another difficulty before him: how, if his pockets were to let, was he to support a wife during the month that must elapse before he received the following quarter’s allowance? The only solution that presented itself to him was that he should convey Emily to his mother’s house, and he could not but see that, fond parent though she was, his mother might not accord his clandestine bride a very warm welcome. And if Rotherham (out of revenge) insisted on his spending another year at Cambridge, Emily would have to remain under his mother’s roof until he came down for good, and it was just possible that she might not like such an arrangement. He wondered if he could install her in rooms in Cambridge, and decided that if he exercised the most stringent economy it could be managed.

These problems nagged at him, but they were for the future, which he was much in the habit of leaving to take care of itself. A far more pressing anxiety was the fear that Rotherham, arriving in Bath to find Emily gone, might guess her destination, and follow her. He had warned her not to tell anyone of her flight, and he could not think that he had given Mrs Floore the least cause to suspect him of being implicated in it; but if she mentioned his name Rotherham would know at once that the flight was an elopement. And then what would he do? Perhaps he would be too proud to chase after an unwilling bride. Gerard could picture his look of contempt, the curl of his lip, the shrug of his powerful shoulders. Unfortunately he could even more clearly picture his look of blazing anger: and when he at last fell asleep his dreams were haunted by the sound of hooves, relentlessly drawing nearer and ever nearer, and by lurid, muddled scenes, in which he was always looking down the barrel of a duelling-pistol. Waking in a sweat, it was a little time before he could throw off the impression of the dream, and realize that whatever else Rotherham might do, he would not challenge his ward to a duel. But Rotherham was a boxer, and whether he would consider himself debarred by his guardianship from wreaking a pugilistic vengeance on his ward was a question to which Gerard could find no answer. Of the two fates he thought he would prefer to be shot.

That Rotherham would be very angry with him, he had no doubt; that Rotherham (and, indeed, several other interested persons) would have every right to be angry, scarcely occurred to him. In general, of course, elopements were condemned; in his case, only an insensate person could fail to perceive the purity of his motive. The thing was not so much an elopement as a rescue. Indeed, only as a last resort had he planned it, when he had failed to induce Emily to be resolute.

He was up betimes in the morning, for he had much to do. The sale of his watch was disappointing; he was obliged, regretfully, to part with his second-best fob, and a very pretty tie-pin as well; and even when these sacrifices had been made the hire of a chaise-and-four to the Border was quite out of the reach of his purse. With post-charges as high as one shilling and twopence per mile for each horse, the hire of a chaise-and-pair only for a journey of over three hundred miles would, he realized, leave him in extremely straitened circumstances. Like Mrs Floore, he felt that to elope in anything less than a chaise-and-four was odiously shabby, but there was no help for it. Then it occurred to him that to pay off the chaise at some point along the road, and to continue by stage, or mail, would not only be a vast saving, but would throw Rotherham (if he pursued them) off the scent. So he booked a chaise to Wolverhampton, and began to think that in so doing he had performed a masterly stroke.

This mood of elation was of brief duration. He and the yellow-bodied chaise arrived in Queen’s Square precisely at five minutes to ten, in case Emily should be early, which meant that for twenty-five tense minutes he had nothing to do but walk up and down one side of the square, in fretting impatience, a prey to every gloomy foreboding. And when Emily did appear, carrying two bandboxes, and looking perfectly distracted, she exclaimed breathlessly, and in total disregard of the post-boy: “Oh, I am so sorry! I could not escape before, because Betsey was for ever in and out of Grandmama’s room, and she must have seen me! Pray don’t be vexed! Indeed, it was not my fault!”

Nothing could have been more unfortunate, as Gerard was immediately to discover. The postilion, ejecting the straw from his mouth, indicated in unmistakable terms that, being possessed of strong scruples, he could not bring himself, unless greased in the fist, to assist in a runaway marriage. His manner was amiability itself, and a broad grin adorned his homely countenance, but Gerard, grinding his teeth, thought it well to comply with his suggestion, and to untie the strings of his purse. Among the incidental expenses of the journey he had not foreseen the need to bribe the post-boys, so it was not surprising that his first words to Emily, when he climbed up into the chaise, and sat down beside her, were more aggrieved than lover-like. “What in thunder made you say all that in that fellow’s hearing?” he demanded. “When I had taken care to tell them at the stables that you were my sister! Of course, if you mean to blurt out the truth in that fashion, I shall have no money left to pay the post-boys, or the tolls, or anything!”

“Oh, I am sorry! Oh, don’t be vexed!” she replied imploringly.

“No, no!” he assured her. “Good God, how could I be vexed with you, dearest, sweetest Emily? I only said—well, you must own it was the most totty-headed thing to do!”

Her lip trembled. “Oh—!”

“No, not that!” Gerard said hastily, slipping his arm round her waist. “Just a dear little goose! But do take care, my darling! Setting aside all else, if it were known along the road that we were eloping, we should be easily traced, and we don’t want that, do we?”

No, decidedly Emily did not want that. The mere thought of being pursued made her shiver, and turn saucer-like eyes towards him. “D-do you suppose M-mama will come after me?” she faltered.

“Good God!” he ejaculated. “I had not thought of that! Yes, very likely she might, only I daresay she will not find it convenient to drop as much blunt as a chaise-and-four would need, because you told me yourself your papa don’t often find himself with the dibs in tune, and you’ve no notion what it costs to hire four horses, Emily! You may depend upon it she’d hire a pair only!”

“Yes, but Grandmama has a great deal of money!”

“Well, it doesn’t signify. If she isn’t expected to arrive in Bath until the afternoon, we shall have several hours’ start of her. She’d never catch us—even if she knew the way we had gone, which she won’t. The person I was thinking of is Rotherham.”

“Oh, no! Oh, Gerard, no!”

He patted her shoulder soothingly. “Don’t be afraid! Even if he did catch us, I shall not permit him to alarm you,” he said stoutly. “The only thing is that I’d as lief he didn’t come up with us, because of this dashed business of my being his ward. It’s bound to make things awkward. However, there’s no reason to suppose he means to come to Bath today, and in any event I’ve got a precious good scheme for throwing him off the scent! If he’s devilish clever, he might be able to follow us as far as to Wolverhampton, but I flatter myself he’ll throw-up there, because I’ve provided him with a regular stopper! We shall pay off the chaise, Emily, and go on by stagecoach! Depend upon it, he will never think of that, particularly as we shall have to change stages at one or two places. I think there are no stages running direct from there to Carlisle, which is where I thought we should change into a chaise again.”

“But it is horridly uncomfortable on the stage!” objected Emily.

She was still unconvinced that she would find a complicated journey by stagecoach entertaining when they reached Bristol, and changed horses for the first time. Gerard kept a sharp eye on the extortionate post-boy, alighting from the chaise, and engaging him in talk to prevent his passing the word to the new postilion that he was helping an eloping couple to reach the Border. Meanwhile, the ostlers, adjured to fig out two lively ones, poled up the two most lethargic animals in the stables, and assured Gerard (with a wink at the post-boy) that they would be found to be prime steppers. After a very short distance, it became obvious that they were prime stumblers, and Gerard, letting down the window in the front of the chaise, angrily scolded the postilion, who at once pulled up, and, slewing himself round in the saddle, hotly defended himself. Emily tugged at Gerard’s sleeve, begging him not to argue with the man,, and pointing out, very sensibly, that since there was no possibility of changing the undesirable steeds until the next posting-house was reached, it was wasting precious time to quarrel with the postilion. Gerard sat back again, fuming with wrath, and the chaise was set in motion with a sudden jerk that almost flung the passengers on to its floor.

To persons anxious to put as much space between themselves and Bath as possible, and in the shortest time, the slow progress over the next nine miles was agonizing. Emily soon became a prey to agitating reflections. Against all reason, she fancied that they were already being pursued, and every time an imperative blast on a horn gave notice that some faster vehicle was about to pass the chaise, she clutched Gerard’s arm, and uttered a shriek. However, at the Ship Inn they fared better, being supplied with two strengthy beasts, and a youthful post-boy, who, on being urged to spring ’em a bit, obeyed with such enthusiasm that the body of the chaise rocked and lurched so violently that Emily began to feel sick. Gerard had to request the post-boy to abate the pace, but he felt that a good deal of lost time had been made up, and applied himself to the task of assuaging Emily’s fears, and directing her thoughts towards a halcyon future. By dint of skimming lightly over the next year or two, and dwelling on the time when he should have become an important member of Lord Liverpool’s administration, he succeeded pretty well. By the time the Cambridge Inn was reached, twenty-three miles out of Bristol, Emily had temporarily forgotten her fears in discussing the rival merits of Green Street and Grosvenor Square as possible localities for the house of a rising politician.

A couple of miles farther on, a slight contretemps occurred, at the Church End turnpike, where the pike-keeper made a spirited attempt to overcharge one whom he took to be a greenhorn. But from this encounter Gerard came off triumphant, which pleased him so much that he began to feel more confident; and for the next four miles boasted to Emily of all the occasions when ugly customers, trying to cheat him, had found themselves powerfully set down.

It was at about this time that Serena and Mr Goring, after a splendid cross-country gallop, dropped into a narrow lane, leading to the village of Dursley from the Bristol to Gloucester pike-road.

“By Jove, Lady Serena, you’re a devil to go!” Mr Goring exclaimed, in involuntary admiration.

She laughed, leaning forward to pat the mare’s steaming neck. “I like a slapping pace, don’t you?”

“I should have called it a splitting pace!” he retorted. “Neck or nothing! My heart was in my mouth when you rode straight for that drop fence!”

“Was it indeed? It didn’t seem to me that you were precisely hanging back, Mr Goring!”

He smiled. “Why, if you chose to take the fence, what could I do but follow?”

“Very true! Pitting that peacocky bay of yours against my mare, you could do nothing else—but you did your best to get ahead of me, I thought!” she said, throwing him a quizzical look. “Confess that you enjoyed that last point as much as I did! For myself, I could almost forgive Gerard and Emily their iniquities: I haven’t liked anything so well since I came to Bath. What is the time?”

He pulled out his watch. “Twenty minutes to two. We should come up with them before they reach Gloucester, I think.”

In another few minutes they were on the pike-road, and with the Cambridge Inn in sight. Here, Serena permitted Mr Goring, who knew the house well, to make the necessary inquiries. He returned to her presently with the intelligence that the yellow chaise had changed horses there about twenty minutes previously. They were sweating badly,” he added, as he hoisted himself into the saddle again, “so no doubt young Monksleigh is making the best speed he can.”

“In that case, we won’t jaunter along either,” said Serena.

“What do you mean to do when we sight the chaise?” asked Mr Goring. “Am I to hold it up?”

“Good God, no! We want no dramatic scenes upon the highroad! We shall follow discreetly behind, to see which inn they mean to patronize. Leave it to me, then! I know Gloucester as you know Bristol. I shall be better able to carry it off smoothly than you. Yes, I know you would like to have a turn-up with Gerard, but it’s my ambition to emerge from this imbroglio without kicking up any dust!”

Thus it was that Gerard, jumping down from the chaise at the Bell Inn, Gloucester, to inspect the horses that were being led out, received an extremely unpleasant shock. “How glad I am to have caught you!” said an affable voice. “You need not have the horses put to!”

Gerard spun round, hardly believing his ears. But they had not deceived him: it was the Lady Serena who had spoken. She was standing just behind him, a pleasant smile on her lips, but her eyes glinting. His own eyes starting at her, he stood transfixed, and could only stammer: “L-Lady Serena!”

“I knew you would be surprised!” she said, still with that horrid affability. “It is not necessary, after all, for Emily to hurry north: her brother is very much better! Famous news, isn’t it? The letter came too late for anyone to be able to stop you before you left Bath, so I told her grandmother I would ride after you. Mr Goring—do you know Mr Goring?—was so obliging as to give me his escort, and here we are!”

He uttered in a choked voice: “It’s no concern of yours, ma’am! I—”

“Oh, no, but I was happy to be of service!” She nodded smilingly at the elderly ostler, who was touching his forelock to her. “Good-day to you, Runcorn! It is some time since you stabled my horses for me, isn’t it? I am glad you are still here, for I want you to take charge of my mare, and Mr Goring’s horse too. Ah, I see Emily staring at me! I must instantly tell her the good news, Gerard! Do you go into the house, and bespeak refreshment for us all! Tell the landlord it is for me, and that I should like a private parlour!”

“Lady Serena!” he said furiously. “I must make it plain to you—”

“Indeed, yes! We have so much to say to one another! I in particular! But not, do you think, in the courtyard?”

She turned away, and walked towards the chaise, where Mr Goring, having relinquished the bridles he had been holding into the ostler’s hands, was already persuading Emily to alight. She seemed to be on the point of bursting into tears, but he took her hand in a firm clasp, and said gravely, but with great kindness: “Come, Miss Laleham! There is nothing to be afraid of: you must not go any farther! Let me help you down, and then we will talk the matter over sensibly, shall we?”

“You don’t understand!” she said, trying to pull her hand away. “I can’t—I won’t—”

“Yes, I do understand, but you are making a mistake you would bitterly regret, my child. Rest assured that your grandmama won’t permit anyone to compel you to do what you don’t like!”

She looked unconvinced, but his tone, which was much that of a man bent on soothing a frightened baby, calmed her a little, and made her feel a sense of protection. She stopped trying to free her hand, and only made a faint protest when he lifted her down from the chaise. She found herself confronting Serena, and hung her head guiltily, not daring to look up into her face.

“That’s right!” said Serena, in a heartening voice. “Now, before we go home again, we’ll drink some coffee, my dear. Mr Goring, I shall leave it to you to see that the horses are properly bestowed. Tell old Runcorn that Fobbing will ride over to fetch home my mare in a couple of days’ time, if you please, and arrange for four good horses to be put to half an hour from now. I know I may safely depend upon you.”

She then swept Emily irresistibly into the inn, encountering Gerard in the doorway, and saying: “Well, have you done as I bade you?”

This question, calculated as it was to reduce Mr Monksleigh to the status of a schoolboy, made him flush angrily, and say in a sulky voice: “I am willing to break our journey for a few minutes, ma’am, but pray do not imagine that I shall permit you to dictate to me, or to tyrannize over Miss Laleham! In future, Miss Laleham’s welfare—”

He stopped, not because he was interrupted, but because it was abundantly plain that she was not attending to him. The landlord was bustling up, and she walked past Gerard to meet him, saying, in her friendly way: “Well, Shere, and how are you?”

“Pretty stout, my lady, I thank you! And how is your ladyship? And my Lady Spenborough? Now, if I had but known we was to have the honour of serving your ladyship with a nuncheon today—!”

“Just some coffee and cold meat will do excellently for us. I daresay Mr Monksleigh will have told you that he was escorting Miss Laleham here on what was feared to be a sad errand. One of her brothers took ill suddenly, and the worst was apprehended, so that nothing would do but she must post to Wolverhampton, where he is staying. However, better tidings have been received, I am happy to say, and so I have come galloping after her, to save her a tedious and most anxious journey! Dear Emily, you are still quite overset, and I am sure it is not to be wondered at! You shall rest quietly for a while, before returning to Bath.”

The landlord at once, and in the most solicitous fashion, begged them both to come into his best private parlour; and Emily, dazed by Serena’s eloquence, and incapable of resisting her, allowed herself to be shepherded into the parlour, and tenderly deposited in a chair. Mr Monksleigh brought up the rear, not knowing what else to do. Self-confidence was rapidly deserting him, but as soon as the landlord had bowed himself out of the room, he made another attempt to assert himself, saying, in a blustering voice: “Let it be understood, ma’am, that we are not to be turned from our purpose! You do not know the circumstances which have led to our taking what no doubt seems to you a rash step! Not that it signifies in the least! Upon my word, I shall be interested to learn by what right you—”

The speech ended here somewhat abruptly, for Serena rounded on him, an alarming flash in her eyes. “Are you out of your senses?” she demanded. “What the deuce do you mean by daring to address me in such terms?”

He blenched, but muttered: “Well, I don’t see what business it is of yours! You need not think—”

“Let me remind you, Gerard, that you are not talking to one of your college friends!” she interrupted. “I don’t take that tone from anyone alive, and least of all from a cub of your age! I have previously thought that Rotherham was too severe with you, but I am fast reaching the conclusion he has been too easy! What you need, and what I am strongly tempted to see that you receive, is a sharp lesson in civility! Do not stand there glowering at me in that stupid, ill-bred style! And do not waste your time talking fustian to me about the circumstances which led you to take what you call a rash step, but which you know very well to be a disgraceful and a dishonourable prank!”

Mr Goring, who had entered the room at the start of this masterly trimming, and had listened to it with deep appreciation, said very politely: “I shall be happy to be of service to you. Lady Serena.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I don’t doubt it—or that you are an excellent teacher, sir! but I hope not to put you to so much trouble.”

“It would be a pleasure, ma’am.”

Mr Monksleigh, finding himself between an avenging goddess on the one hand, and a stocky and determined gentleman on the other, thought it prudent to retreat from his dangerous position. He begged pardon, and said that he had not meant to be uncivil. The landlord, accompanied by a waiter, then came back into the room, to set the table, a mundane business which seemed to Gerard quite out of keeping with the romantic nature of his escapade. And when they were alone again, Lady Serena sat down at the head of the table, and began to pour out the coffee, commanding the star-crossed lovers to come and take their places, as though she were presiding over a nursery meal.

“Oh, I could not swallow anything!” Emily said, in lachrymose accents.

“I daresay you will find, when you make the attempt, that you are mistaken,” replied Serena. “For my part, I am excessively hungry, and so, I don’t doubt, is Mr Goring. So come and sit down to the table, if you please! Mr Goring, if you will take the foot, and carve the ham, Gerard may sit on my other hand, and so we shall be comfortable.”

Anything less comfortable than the attitudes assumed by the lovers could scarcely have been imagined. Mr Goring, glancing up from his task, was hard put to it not to laugh.

“I won’t go back! I won’t!” Emily declared, tearfully. “Oh, no one was ever so unhappy as I am!”

“Well, you know, I think you deserve to be unhappy,” said Serena. “You have caused Mr Goring and me a great deal of trouble; you have behaved in a way that must, if ever it were to be known, sink you quite beneath reproach; and, which is worst of all, you have made your grandmama ill. Really, Emily, you are quite old enough to know better than to be so outrageously thoughtless! When I arrived in Beaufort Square this morning, it was to find Mrs Floore recovering from a heart attack, and in such distress that I don’t know when I have been more shocked.”

Emily burst into tears. “Lady Serena, it is useless to seek to interfere!” said Gerard. “This step has not been lightly taken! And as for being dishonourable, it’s no such thing! If you think I acted behind Rotherham’s back, you are much mistaken! Before ever I came to Bath I went to Claycross, and told my cousin what I should do!”

Lady Serena lowered her cup. “You told Rotherham you were going to elope with Emily?” she repeated.

He reddened. “No, not that! Well, I didn’t mean then to elope! I told him I should go to Bath, whatever he said, and if he didn’t choose to believe me, I’m sure it was not my fault!”

“Are we to understand that Rotherham, in fact, forbade you to approach Emily?” asked Serena. “My poor Gerard! What a fortunate thing it is that I was able to catch you! We must hope that this escapade doesn’t reach his ears, but there’s no saying that it won’t, and I am strongly of the opinion that you should book yourself a seat on the next London-bound coach.”

“I’m not afraid of Rotherham!” stated Gerard.

“Then I know just what you should do!” said Serena cordially. “Take the bull by the horns, my dear Gerard! You know what Rotherham is! Seek him out, and make a clean breast of it, and he won’t be nearly as angry!”

He cast her a look of intense dislike. “I’ve no desire to see him at all, ma’am!”

Serena spread mustard on a mouthful of ham, and said thoughtfully: “Well, I can’t but feel that if I stood in your shoes I had rather seek him than have him seek me. However, that is quite your own affair! But put this absurd Gretna Green idea out of your head, I do beg of you! If I fail to persuade you to abandon your project, I shall have no choice but to inform Rotherham immediately, and then you will see him somewhere on the road to Scotland. I shan’t envy you that meeting.”

Emily shrieked: “You would not! Oh, you would not do so cruel a thing!”

“Of course I should! It would be far more cruel to let you ruin yourself in Gerard’s company. And talking of ruin, pray how did you come by the money to pay for this trip, Gerard?”

“I suppose you think I stole it!” he said furiously. “If you must know, I borrowed it!”

“Who in the world was fool enough to lend you enough money to get to Gretna Green and back?” she demanded, quite astonished.

“I shall pay it back on the day I come of age! In fact, he holds my note-of-hand!”

“Who does? You know, this becomes more and more serious!” Serena said. “I fear Rotherham will be quite out of patience with you.”

“Well, he will not, because it was he who lent me the money!” retorted Gerard.

Mr Goring choked over a mouthful of bread and butter; Serena, after gazing in an awed way at Gerard for a few moments, said unsteadily: “You borrowed money from Rotherham to enable you to dope with the girl to whom he is betrothed? No doubt he gave you his blessing as well!”

“No, he did not! Of course I didn’t tell him I wanted it for—Well, I didn’t want it for that! I mean, I hadn’t thought of eloping then, or I shouldn’t have—though it isn’t as if I asked him to give me the money, after all!” he added defensively.

Mr Goring, listening to him in grim amusement, remarked dispassionately: “You’re certainly an original, Monksleigh!”

“Oh, Gerard, how could you?” said Emily. “Oh, dear, how dreadful everything is! I’m sure it would be very wrong of us to let Lord Rotherham pay for my marriage to you! Now I shall have to go back to Bath, and I wish I were dead!”

Gerard, who, to do him justice, had not until now considered this particular aspect of his exploit, flushed scarlet, and said in a deeply mortified voice: “Well, if it was wrong, at least I did it for your sake!”

Serena refilled her cup. “I daresay it may prove to be a blessing,” she observed. “His worst enemy never said of Rotherham that he had no sense of humour, and the chances are he would laugh so much that he would forget to be angry with you, Gerard.”

He did not appear to derive much comfort from this, but before he could speak, Emily said, tightly clasping her hands: “Lady Serena, I don’t want to marry Lord Rotherham! Oh, pray do not try to persuade me! I cannot love him!”

“Then I suggest that you tell him so,” replied Serena calmly.

“T-tell him so—?” repeated Emily, her eyes widening in horror.

“Yes, tell him so,” said Serena. “When a gentleman, my dear Emily, does you the honour to offer for your hand, and you accept his offer, the barest civility demands that if you should afterwards wish to cry off you must at least inform him of the alteration in your sentiments.”

Emily began to cry again. Mr Goring said: “Miss Laleham, pray don’t distress yourself! What Lady Serena says is true, but she should have told you also that you have nothing to fear in returning to Mrs Floore’s house! I can assure you that you will find in her a stout supporter! Had you informed her of your dislike of Rotherham, this unfortunate affair need never have been!”

She raised her wet eyes to his face in an incredulous look. “Oh, but Mama—!”

“Believe me,” he said earnestly, “Mrs Floore is more than a match for your mama! Indeed, my poor child, you must return with us! You have allowed the irritation of your nerves to overset your judgement: I have never met Lord Rotherham, but it is inconceivable to me that he, or any other man, could wish to marry a lady who held him in such aversion!”

“Mr Goring,” said Serena, “it is a happiness to have become acquainted with you! Your common sense is admirable! I can think of no one more unlikely than Rotherham to hold a reluctant female to her engagement to him, and you will own that I have reason to know what I am talking about!” A murmur from Emily caused her to whip round, saying, sharply: “If you bleat “Mama” just once more, Emily, you will find that I have a temper quite as much to be dreaded as Rotherham’s! Why, you little ninnyhammer, if it is Mama you fear, marry Rotherham tomorrow! You could not have found any man more capable of protecting you from her! Or, I dare swear, more willing to do so! Yes, you may stare! That had not occurred to you, had it? There is another thing that has not occurred to you! We have heard a great deal from you about the terror with which he has inspired you, but I have yet to hear you acknowledge that he has treated you during these weeks you have skulked in Bath with a forbearance of which I did not believe a man of his temper to have been capable! Why he should love such a sapskull as you, I know not, but it is clearly seen that he does! His reward is that when he at last tells you that it is time you came to a point, rather than summon up the courage to face him, and to tell him the truth, you elope with a silly schoolboy for whom you do not care the snap of your fingers! His own ward, too! Did you plan it, between the pair of you, to make him appear ridiculous? Of you, Gerard, I can believe it! After this day’s disclosures, it is not in your power to surprise me! You are an ill-conditioned puppy, without gratitude, without propriety, without a thought in your head for anything but what may happen to suit your pleasure!” Her scorching gaze swept to Emily’s horrified countenance. “You I acquit of all but childish folly, but I tell youthis, my girl: but for that saving grace—if grace you call it!—I should think you the most contemptible and vulgar of jilts!”

These flaming words not unnaturally left both the persons to whom they were addressed speechless and shaken. Gerard was red to the roots of his hair, Emily paper-white, and almost cowering in her chair. Mr Goring rose, and went to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. Over her head he spoke to Serena. “No more, ma’am, I beg of you! You have said enough! She has indeed behaved ill, but you forget what you yourself have said!—She is the merest child: one, moreover, who is timid, and has felt herself to be alone, and has never known the sympathy and support which girls more fortunately circumstanced than herself enjoy!”

“Yes!” burst in Gerard. “But when I rescue her, and try to protect her—”

“If you have the slightest regard for your skin, be silent!” interrupted Mr Goring, his voice losing some of its deliberate calm. “No man who wishes to protect an ignorant girl persuades her into taking a step that must expose her to the censure and the contempt of the world!”

The storm vanished from Serena’s face, and she gave an involuntary laugh. “You set us all to rights, Mr Goring! There is really no more to be said, and if we are to be in Bath again by dinner-time we should set forward immediately. You need not look so scared, Emily! I shan’t scold you any more—and I hope you will not, because I once lost my temper with you, imagine me to be an ogress!”

“Oh, no, no!” Emily stammered. “How could I? I never meant—I didn’t think—”

“But you have turned Rotherham into an ogre, have you not?” Serena said, arching her brows. “Come! I think you would do well to wait until you have seen him again before you decide to jilt him, my dear. It may be, you know, that you will find that the picture you have painted is a false one. If he still seems terrible to you, why, then, tell him you wish to cry off!” She held out her hand, but spoke to Mr Goring. “Do you come with us, sir?”

“I shall ride behind the chaise, ma’am.”

“Emily!” exclaimed Gerard. “Will you permit yourself to be dragged from my side?”

“I am so very sorry!” she said, trembling. “Pray forgive me! I didn’t mean to behave so wickedly!”

“My dear Gerard, if you wish to remain at Emily’s side, you have only to hire a horse!” said Serena. “Then, when Rotherham comes to Bath, you may confront him together.”

“No, no!” cried Emily, clutching her arm. “Oh, don’t let him! Lord Rotherham and Mama would know what I did, and I couldn’t bear it!”

“If my love means so little to you, go!” said Gerard nobly. “I see that the coronet has won!”