Black Sheep

Chapter V

For one awful moment Abby felt sick with dread of what he might say next. Then, just as she caught his eyes, a desperate appeal in her own, she realized that he was merely amusing himself at her expense, and was mischievously enjoying her discomfiture. Fright was succeeded by wrath, but not wholehearted wrath: there was apology as well as mockery in the smile directed at her over Fanny’s head, and a disarming suggestion of fellowship, as though Mr Miles Calverleigh believed that in Miss Abigail Wendover he had discovered a kindred spirit.

Fanny, looking up, in her unaffected way, into his face, exclaimed: “Oh, did you know my mother, sir? I never did—that is to say, I can’t remember that I did!” She hesitated, and then asked shyly: “Are you Mr Stacy Calverleigh’s uncle? He is a particular friend of mine!”

If anything, thought Abby, could convince Miles Calverleigh that Fanny was a lamb to be guarded from stray wolves, the artlessness of this remark must have done so. She hoped, but could not be sure. His expression was that of a man listening with slightly bored indulgence to a child’s prattle. He said: “ Then you will be able to introduce him to me, won’t you?”

It was evident, from the look of surprise in Fanny’s eyes, that Mr Stacy Calverleigh had told her nothing about his reprobate uncle: an omission for which, decided Abby, submitting the matter to dispassionate consideration, he could scarcely be blamed. Fanny said, on the edge of laughter: “Oh—! You are joking me, aren’t you? Did I say something gooseish? Of course you must know Stacy much better than I do!”

“On the contrary! I don’t know him at all—shouldn’t recognize him if he walked into the room at this moment! When I left England he must have been in leading-strings.”

“Oh, I see!”said Fanny, her puzzled brow clearing.

“Well, I’ll venture to say that you won’t be disappointed in him!” said Lady Weaverham. “Though I won’t say you may not mistake him for a Bond Street Spark, for I did so myself, until I found he was no such thing. He’s not above being pleased, and, what is more, his head hasn’t been turned, which it might well have been for the caps that have been set at him in Bath!” She added, as Fanny blushed scarlet, and moved away from Mr Calverleigh: “No, no, my dear, I don’t mean you! The boot is quite on the other leg! Not a bit of heed will he pay to the other girls, and I’m sure I’m not surprised!” A fat chuckle shook her massive bosom; she completed Fanny’s discomfiture by saying: “Many’s the time Sir Joshua has said to me that you bear the palm, my dear—not that he had any need to, because well do I know it!”

At this point, Oliver won Abby’s approval by withdrawing Fanny a little away from the group, under pretext of pointing something out to her in the street. They sat down together, and were soon joined by Lavinia and Miss Sophia Weaverham, all four chatting happily until the party was broken up by Lady Weaverham, who heaved herself up from her chair, saying that she and Sophy must be off, or Sir Joshua would be wondering what had become of them. Abby would have followed her example, but received such an unmistakable signal from Fanny that she obediently postponed her leave-taking. The reason for the signal was disclosed as soon as the Weaverhams had departed, Lavinia eagerly asking her mama if Fanny might not stay to dine with them. “Do say she may, Mama! I want to show her the ravishing things Oliver bought for me in India, particularly the shawl—no, not a shawl: I don’t mean the Cashmere shawls, though they are the finest I ever saw in my life!—but the other thing—”

“Sari,” supplied her brother, smiling.

“Oh, yes! Sari!” said Lavinia, committing it to memory. “And the sketches you drew of all those strange places, and natives, and things! Mama—?”

“Why, certainly, my love!” Mrs Grayshott responded. “If Miss Wendover permits!”

“Miss Wendover thinks, as I am persuaded you do too, ma’am, that the invalid has had enough visitors for one day,” said Abby. “Another time, Fanny!”

Fanny nodded, and got up. “Yes, of course. I did think it might not be quite the thing to do!”

This instantly drew protests and assurances from Lavinia and Oliver, under cover of which Mrs. Grayshott said: “I wish you will let her stay! She is doing Oliver so much good! He does his best to hide it from me, but he is in very low spirits, feeling, I think, that he has failed to justify his uncle’s confidence—oh, absurd, of course, but one knows how it is with boys! But dear little Fanny has three times made him laugh, quite in his old way! Let her remain with us! You know we keep country-hours! Martha shall bring her home before it is dark, I promise you.”

“My dear ma’am, if you do indeed wish it—! But as for putting your Martha to the trouble of escorting her, most certainly not! I’ll send the carriage for her, and only hope she may not be very much in your way!”

She then took leave of her hostess. So did Mr Miles Calverleigh: a circumstance which she regarded with mixed feelings. He followed her down the stairs, and it occurred to her that his object might be to apologize for having alarmed her so much half-an-hour before. But as she had by this time formed a very fair estimate of his character she was not much surprised when his first words to her, as soon as the street-door was shut behind them, were: “Do tell me!—Who, and what, is Sir Joshua?”

“Sir Joshua,” she replied primly, “is Lady Weaverham’s husband, sir.”

“Yes, my pretty pea-goose, and Sophy’s father too!” he said outrageously. “My powerful intellect has enabled me to assimilate those barren facts! Don’t act the dunce!”

“Let me tell you, sir, that if you wish to be accepted into Bath society you will do well to mend your manners!” retorted Abby.

“I’ve none to mend, and not the smallest wish to be accepted into Bath, or any other, society. And if Bath society is composed of Lady Weaverham and her like—”

“Of course it isn’t!” she interrupted impulsively. “I mean—Oh, what a detestable man you are!”

“Well, if that’s what you meant to say you must have a very hubble-bubble mind!” he commented. “I may be detestable—in fact, I know I am—but what has that to say to anything ?” He added, as she resolutely bit her lip: “Yes, do laugh! You have a pretty laugh, and I like the way your eyes dance.”

Guiltily aware that this very improper speech had pleased rather than offended her, she said, as coolly as she could: “We were discussing the Weaverhams, I think. They are very kind, worthy people, and although they are not—not the pink of gentility, they are generally well-liked.”

“Full of juice, eh?” he said, showing at once his understanding and his disregard for polite ambiguities. “Where did they pick up the title? In the City?”

“I don’t know. Sir Joshua certainly was engaged in Trade, until he retired—they make no secret of that—but—but in a perfectly respectable way!”

“No need to defend him,” he said kindly. “I’ve been engaged in trade myself, though I daresay you wouldn’t say respectably.”

“I should be astonished if I discovered that you had done anything respectably!” declared Abby, goaded into retort. Shocked by her own lapse from propriety, she was thankful to see that they had reached York House, and added hastily: “Our ways part here, sir, so I will say goodbye!”

“No, don’t! it would be premature! I’m going to escort you to your home.”

“I am obliged to you, but it is quite unnecessary, I assure you!”

She had stopped by the entrance to the hotel, and held out her hand, repeating; “Goodbye, Mr Calverleigh!”

“If you imagine that I am going to walk behind you, like a footman, all the way to Sydney Place, you are mightily mistaken, Miss Abigail Wendover!” he said, taking her hand, and drawing it within his arm. “Is it now the established mode for young females to jaunter about the town unattended? It wasn’t so when I lived in England!”

“I am not a young female, and I don’t jaunter!” replied Abby hotly, pulling her hand away, but walking on beside him. “Times have changed since you lived in England, sir!”

“Yes, alas, and not for the better!” he agreed, in a mournful tone. “Bear with my foibles, ma’am! Being yourself stricken in years, that shouldn’t be difficult!”

A chuckle escaped her. “Don’t be so absurd!” she admonished him. “I may not be stricken in years, but I am no longer of an age when I need chaperonage. I don’t care to let Fanny go out alone, though I know several mothers who see no objection to it here.Not in London, of course.” She paused, and said, after a moment: “May I request you, sir, to take care what you say to Fanny? Since you have seen fit to inform her that you knew her mother very well, she may try to talk to you about Celia, and she is sufficiently needle-witted to add two and two together. I’m aware that you did it to put me in a quake, but, having succeeded, pray be satisfied!”

He laughed. “No, no! just bantering you a little! You were looking such daggers at me that I couldn’t resist!”

“Chivalrous!” she remarked.

“Not a bit! I warned you that there’s no virtue in me.”

“Then why do you insist on escorting me home?”

“Because I want to escort you home, of course. What a bird-witted question!”

Her eyes began to dance, and her lips to quiver. “You know, you are the most provoking creature I ever encountered!” she told him.

“Oh, come, now, that’s doing it rather too brown!” he expostulated. “Remember, I was acquainted with your brother Rowland! I never saw much of James, but I shouldn’t wonder at it if he’s as bad. Or don’t you find consequential bores provoking?”

“If I didn’t believe you to be dead to all proper feeling,” said Abby, in a shaking voice, “I should endeavour to point out to you that that is a—an abominable thing to say!”

“Well, thank God you do realize it!” he replied. “Now we shall go on much more comfortably!”

“No we shan’t. Not until you stop trying to hoax me into thinking you are uniformly odious! Pray, did you bring Oliver Grayshott home because you wanted to?”

“Yes, I like the boy. Don’t you?”

“Yes, I daresay, but—”

“Now, don’t run away with the notion that I came back to England on his account!” he admonished her. “Nothing could be farther from the truth! All I did was to take charge of him on the voyage: no very arduous task!”

“And subsequently put yourself to the trouble of bringing him down to Bath,” said Abby pensively.

“Oh, that was because—” he checked himself, but continued blandly, after an infinitesimal pause: “—because his uncle is a man of vast interests, and one never knows when the favour of such a man might stand one in good stead.”

“How quickly you made a recover!” said Abby admiringly. “You were within an ace of telling me that you came to Bath to see your nephew, too!”

“Ah, I did tell you that I didn’t know he was here! I rather thought I did,” he said, quite unperturbed. “I hope he means to return: according to Lady Weaverham, he is a perfect paragon, and I should like to meet a Calverleigh who fitted that description.”

“You won’t meet him in the person of your nephew!”

“How do you know? You’ve never clapped eyes on him!”

“No, but—”

“Furthermore, Selina likes him,” he pursued. “You told me that yourself, and I have the greatest respect for her judgment.”

“Oh, have you indeed?” she said wrathfully. “When you have never clapped eyes on her—!”

“Not to my knowledge,” he admitted. “However, I understand her to be your eldest sister, and there’s no saying but what I may have met her—before I was excluded from polite circles, of course. If I didn’t, I look forward to making her acquaintance.”

They had reached the corner of Bridge Street, and Abby came to an abrupt halt. “No!” she said forcefully. “I don’t wish you to make her acquaintance! She knows nothing of what you disclosed to me—she doesn’t even know that I met you yesterday! And I have no intention—none whatsoever!—of introducing you to her!”

“Haven’t you? But you’ll be made to look no-how if you don’t, won’t you? If Mrs Grayshott doesn’t perform that office, would you wager a groat on the chance that Lady Weaverham won’t?”

“No—or on the chance that you wouldn’t instantly tell my sister of our previous meetings!” said Abby, with considerable bitterness. “Without a blush!”

“Very likely,” he agreed.

Unable to think of any suitable rejoinder, she walked on in silence.

“And I promise you I won’t blush,” he added reassuringly.

She choked, but managed to retort with tolerable gravity: “I shouldn’t suppose that you know how to!”

“No, I don’t think I do,” he said, subjecting the matter to consideration. “At my age, it is rather too late to acquire the accomplishment, don’t you think?”

“Mr Calverleigh!” she said, turning her head to look up at him, “let us be a little serious! It is true that I haven’t yet met your nephew, but you have met my niece! You don’t want for sense; you are not a green youth, but a—a man of the world; and you loved Fanny’s mother! I don’t doubt that, or that seeing Fanny must have given you a—a pang—brought it all back to you!”

“You know, the odd thing is that it didn’t,” he interrupted. “Is she so like Celia?”

Astonished, she gasped: “Her image!”

“No, is she indeed? What tricks memory plays one! I had thought that Celia had brown eyes.”

“Do you mean to say that you have forgotten?”demanded Abby, wholly taken aback.

“Well, it all happened more than twenty years ago,” he said apologetically.

“And no doubt your memory has confused her with some other lady!”

“Yes, that’s very possible,” he acknowledged.

Miss Abigail Wendover decided, while she struggled with her emotions, that one of the worst features of Mr Miles Calverleigh’s character was his obnoxious ability to throw her into giggles at quite the wrong moment. Being a woman of strong resolution, she mastered herself, and said: “But you do remember that you once loved her, and I don’t think you would wish her daughter to—to become the victim of a fortune-hunter—even if he is your nephew!”

“No. Not that I’ve considered the matter, but I don’t wish anybody to become the victim of a fortune-hunter. Or, now I come to think of it, of any other predacious person. But I am of the opinion that you may be wronging my foolish nephew: he may well have tumbled into love with her, you know. Undoubtedly a piece of perfection!”

She looked up quickly, kindling to this praise of her darling. “She is very pretty, isn’t she?”

“Oh, past price! Which leads me to suspect that perhaps the poor fellow is in love with her!”

She frowned over this for moment or two, before saying decidedly: “It’s of no consequence if he is: he is not a proper person for her! Besides, she’s by far too young. Surely you must know that!”

“No, I don’t. Her mother was about seventeen when she married Rowland.”

“Which proves she is too young!”

He grinned appreciatively, but said: “You may be right, but you can’t expect me to agree with you. After all, I tried to marry Celia myself!”

“Yes, but you were only a boy then. You must be wiser now!”

“Much! Too wise to meddle in what doesn’t concern me!”

“Mr Calverleigh, it should concern you!”

“Miss Wendover, it don’t!”

“Then, if you’ve no interest in your nephew, why do you mean to linger in Bath? Why do you hope he means to return here?”

“I didn’t say I had no interest in him. I own, I didn’t think I had, but that was before I knew he was making up to your niece. You can’t deny that that provides a very interesting situation!”

“Excessively diverting, too!”

“Yes, that’s what I think.”

She said despairingly: “ I see that I might as well address myself to a gate-post!”

“What very odd things you seem to talk to!” he remarked. “Do you find gate-posts less responsive than eels?”

She could not help smiling, but she said very earnestly: “Promise me one thing at least, sir! Even though you won’t intervene in this miserable affair, promise me that you won’t promote it!”

“Oh, readily! I am a mere spectator.”

She was obliged to be satisfied, but said in somewhat minatory accents: “I trust your word, sir.”

“You may safely do so. I shan’t feel any temptation to break it,” he replied cheerfully.

Feeling that this remark showed him to be quite irreclaimable, Abby walked on in silence, trying to discover why she allowed herself to talk to him at all, far less to accept his escort. No satisfactory answer presented itself, for although he seemed to be impervious to snubs she knew that she could have snubbed his advances if she had made any real effort to do so. After a half-hearted attempt to convince herself that she endured his escort and his conversation with the sole object of winning his support in her crusade against his nephew she found herself to be under the shameful necessity of admitting that she enjoyed both, and—far worse!—would have suffered considerable .disappointment had he announced his intention of leaving Bath within the immediate future. She could only suppose that it was his unlikeness to the other gentlemen of her acquaintance which appealed to her sense of humour, and made it possible for her to tolerate him, for there was really nothing else to render him acceptable: he was neither handsome nor elegant; his manners were careless; and his morals non-existent. He was, in fact, precisely the sort of ramshackle person to whom no lady of birth, breeding, and propriety would extend the smallest encouragement. He had nothing to recommend him but his smile, and she was surely too old, and had too much commonsense, to be beguiled by a smile, however attractive it might be. But just as she reached this decision he spoke, and she glanced up at him, and realized that she had overestimated both her age and her commonsense. He was smiling down at her, and, try as she would, she was incapable of resisting the impulse to smile back at him. It was almost as if a bond existed between them, which was tightened by his smile. In repose his face was harsh, but the smile transformed it. His eyes lost their cold, rather cynical expression, warming to laughter, and holding, besides amusement, an indefinable look of understanding. He might mock, but not unkindly; and when he discomfited her his smiling eyes conveyed sympathy as well as amusement, and clearly invited her to share his amusement. And, thought Abby, the dreadful thing was that she did share it. He seemed to think that they were kindred spirits, and the shocking suspicion that he was right made her look resolutely ahead, saying: “Yes, sir? What did you say?”

Quick to hear the repressive note in her voice, he replied meekly: “Nothing, I assure you, to which you could take the least exception! In fact, no more than: I wish you will tell me. Upon which you turned your head, and looked up at me so charmingly that the rest went out of my mind! How the devil have you contrived to escape matrimony in all the unnumbered years of your life?”

An unruly dimple peeped, but she answered primly: “I am very well content to remain single, sir.” It then occurred to her that this might lead him to suppose that her hand had never been sought in matrimony, which, for some reason unknown to herself, was an intolerable misapprehension, and she destroyed whatever quelling effect her dignified reply might have had upon him, by adding: “Though you needn’t suppose that I have not received several eligible offers!”

He chuckled. “I don’t!”

Blushing rosily, she said, trying to recover her lost dignity: “And if that is what you wished me to tell you—”

“Oh, no!” he interrupted. “Until you smiled so enchantingly I thought I knew. But you aren’t old cattish—not in the least!”

“Oh!” gasped Abby. “Old cattish? Oh, you—you—I am nothing of the sort!”

“That’s what I said,” he pointed out.

“You didn’t! You—you said—” Her sense of the ridiculous came to her rescue; she burst out laughing. “Odious creature! Now, do, pray, stop roasting me! What do you really wish me to tell you?”

“Oh, I was merely seeking information! I don’t recall that I ever visited Bath in the days of my youth, so I rely on you to tell me just what are its rules and etiquette—as they concern one desirous of entering society.”

“You?” she exclaimed, casting a surprised look up at him.

“But of course! How else could I hope to pursue my acquaintance with—” He paused, encountering a dangerous gleam in her eyes, and continued smoothly: “Lady Weaverham, and her amiable daughter!”

She bit her lip. “No, indeed! How shatterbrained I am! Lady Weaverham has several amiable daughters, too.”

“Good God! Are they all fubsy-faced?”

“A—a little!” she acknowledged. “You will be able to judge for yourself, if you mean to attend the balls at the New Assembly Rooms. I am afraid there are no balls or concerts held at the Lower Rooms until November. You will find it an agreeable day promenade, however, and I expect there will be some public lectures given there. Concerts are given every Wednesday evening at the New Rooms. And there is also the Harmonic Society,” she said, warming to her task. “They sing catches and glees, and meet at the White Hart. At least, they do during the season, but I am not perfectly sure—”

“I shall make it my business to discover the date of the first meeting. Meanwhile, my pretty rogue, that will do!”

Miss Wendover toyed for a moment with the idea of giving him a sharp set-down for addressing her so improperly, but decided that it would be wiser to ignore his impertinence. She said: “Not fond of music, sir? Oh, well, perhaps you have a taste for cards! There are two card-rooms at the New Assembly Rooms: one of them is an octagon, and generally much admired—but I ought to warn you that hazard is not allowed, or any unlawful game. And you cannot play cards at all on Sundays.”

“You dismay me! What, by the way, are the unlawful games you speak of?”

“I don’t know,” she said frankly, “but that’s what it says in the Rules. I expect it wouldn’t do to start a faro bank, or anything of that nature.”

“I shouldn’t wonder at it if you were right,” he agreed, with the utmost gravity. “And how do I gain admittance to this establishment?”

“Oh, you write your name in Mr King’s book, if you wish to become a subscriber! He is the M.C., and the book is kept at the Pump Room. Dress balls are on Monday, card assemblies on Tuesday, and Fancy balls on Thursday. The balls begin soon after seven o’clock, and end punctually at eleven. Only country dances are permitted at the Dress balls, but there are in general two cotillions danced at the Fancy balls. Oh, and you pay sixpence for Tea, on admission!”

“And they say Bath is a slow place! You appear to be gay to dissipation. What happens, by the way, if eleven o’clock strikes in the middle of one of your country dances?”

She laughed. “The music stops! That’s in the Rules too!”

They had reached Sydney Place by this time, and she stopped outside her house, and held out her hand. “This is where I live, so I will say goodbye to you, Mr Calverleigh. I am much obliged to you for escorting me home, and trust you will enjoy your sojourn in Bath.”

“Yes, if only I am not knocked-up by all the frisks and jollifications you’ve described to me,” he said, taking her hand, and retaining it for a moment in a strong clasp. He smiled down at her. “I won’t say goodbye to you, but au revoir, Miss Wendover!”

She had been afraid that he would insist on entering the house with her to make Selina’s acquaintance, and was relieved when he made no such attempt, merely waiting until Mitton opened the door, and then striding away, with no more than a wave of his hand.

She found, on going upstairs, that Selina had promoted herself to the sofa in the drawing-room, and had had the gratification of receiving a visit from Mrs Leavening. She was so full of Bedfordshire gossip that it was some time before Abby had the opportunity to tell her that Mrs Grayshott’s son had at last been restored to her. She found it unaccountably difficult to disclose that Mr Miles Calverleigh had brought him to Bath, and when, after responding to her sister’s exclamatory enquiries, she did disclose it, her voice was a trifle too airy.

Selina, fortunately, was too much surprised to notice it. She ejaculated: “ What? Poor Mr Calverleigh’s uncle? The one you told me about? The one that was sent away in disgrace? You don’t mean it! But why did he bring the young man home? I should have thought Mr Balking would have done so!”

“I believe he took care of him on the voyage.”

“Good gracious! Well, he can’t be so very bad after all! and very likely Mr Stacy Calverleigh isn’t either! Unless, of course, he only came to find his nephew—not that there is anything bad about that: in fact, it shows he has very proper feeling!”

“Well, he hasn’t!” said Abby. “He didn’t know his nephew was in Bath, and he hasn’t any family feelings whatsoever!”

“Now, my love, how can you possibly—Don’t tell me you’ve actually met him?”

“He came to call on Mrs Grayshott while I was there—and was so obliging as to escort me home. Quite Gothic!”

“I don’t think it in the least Gothic,” asserted Selina. “It gives me a very good opinion of him! Just like his nephew, whose manners are so particularly pleasing!”

“From all you have told me about his nephew, Mr Miles Calverleigh is nothing like him!” said Abby, with an involuntary choke of laughter. “He is neither handsome nor fashionable, and his manners are deplorable!”

Selina, regarding her with real concern, said: “Dearest, I am persuaded you must be yielding to prejudice, and indeed you should not, though, to be sure, dear Rowland was always used to say it was your besetting sin, but that was when you were a mere child, and perfectly understandable, as I told Rowland, because one cannot expect to find young heads—no, I mean old heads on young shoulders—not that I should expect to find heads on any shoulders at all, unless, of course, it was a freak! Which I know very little about, because you must remember, Abby, that dear Papa had the greatest dislike of fairs, and would never permit us to go to one. Now, what in the world have I said to cast you into whoops?”

“Nothing in the world, Selina!” Abby said, as well as she could for laughter. “On—on the contrary! You’ve t-told me that in spite of all my f-faults I’m not a freak!”

“My dear, you allow your love of drollery to carry you too far,” said Selina reprovingly. “There has never been anything like that in our family!”

Overcome by this comforting assurance, Abby fled, conscious of a wish that Mr Calverleigh could have been present to share her amusement.

Selina continued to speculate, in her rambling way, throughout dinner, on his probable character, what he had done to deserve being banished, and what had brought him back to England; but Fanny’s arrival, just before the tea-tray was brought in, gave the conversation a welcome turn. Fanny was. full of the quaint or the beautiful things Oliver Grayshott had brought home from India, and although Selina’s interest in ivory carvings or Benares brass might be tepid, the first mention of Cashmere shawls, and lengths of the finest Indian muslin, aroused all her sartorial instincts; while a minute description of the sari caused her to wonder how long it would be before she dared venture out of doors, and to adjure Fanny to beg Lavinia not to have it made up until she had seen it. “For you know, my dear, excellent creature though she is, dear Mrs Grayshott has no taste, and what a shocking thing it would be if such an exquisite thing were to be ruined!”

Fanny had spent a delightful day in Edgar Buildings, and she meant—if her aunts saw no objection—to repeat her visit. Lavinia, who was her dearest friend, had told her how low and oppressed poor Oliver was, and had asked her to come again, because funning with her, and making up charades, had quite got up his spirits. “So I think I should, don’t you?” Fanny said, frowning over her own thoughts. “It isn’t me, particularly, but being obliged to be polite and cheerful with a visitor, which does one a great deal of good when one has been ill, and feels dreadfully pulled.”

She had very little to say about Miles Calverleigh. It was plain that the only interest he had for her was his relationship to Stacy. She said that he was not at all like Stacy; and mentioned, as an afterthought, that he said he had known her mama well.

To Abby’s relief, Selina accepted this without question, seeing in it an added reason for thinking he could not be as black as he had been painted. Having decided that it would be both unsafe and unkind to divulge to her the story of Miles Calverleigh and Celia Morval, Abby was thankful to be spared searching enquiries into the circumstances under which Miles Calverleigh had contrived to become intimately acquainted with a girl who had been married within two months of her come-out, and had lived thereafter in a Bedfordshire manor.

She retired to bed presently, devoutly hoping that Mr Calverleigh would have left Bath before Selina emerged from her self-imposed seclusion.