The Grand Sophy

Chapter 18

THE FIRST FEW minutes following the arrival of the Marquesa’s party from Merton were taken up with that lady’s . freely expressed complaints of the situation in which she found herself. The draught occasioned by the opening of the front door had caused the fire to belch forth fresh clouds of acrid smoke into the hall, and not all Mrs. Clavering’s distracted efforts had sufficed to make this apartment look other than neglected. Mrs. Clavering, much impressed by the richness of the Marquesa’s attire, stood bobbing curtsies to her; and the Marquesa, quite unimpressed by Mrs. Clavering, said, “Madre de Dios! If I had brought Gaston it might then have been supportable, and if my cook as well, better still! Why must I come to you in this house, Sophie? Why do you send for me so suddenly, and when it is raining, moreover? Su conducta es perversa?”

Sophy at once told her that she had been summoned to play a duenna’s part, an explanation which made an instant appeal to one in whose veins ran the purest Castilian blood. So well satisfied was the Marquesa that she quite forgot to inquire why Sophy had placed herself in a situation that required the attendance of any other duenna than her aunt, but said approvingly that Sophy had conducted herself with great propriety, and she grudged no fatigue in such a cause. After that, she became aware of Charlbury’s presence and with an effort of memory even recalled his name.

“Hallo, are you hurt?” Sir Vincent asked, nodding at his lordship’s arm sling. “How came that about?”

“Never mind that!” said Sophy, relieving Charlbury of the necessity of answering. “Why are you here, Sir Vincent?”

“That, my dear Juno,” he replied, his eyes glinting at her, “is a long and delicate story. I might, you know, ask the same question. I shan’t, of course, because explanations are apt to be tedious, and what is teasing me more at this present is the far more important subject of dinner. I fear you may not have been expecting so large a party!”

“No, I was not, and heaven knows what we shall find to eat!” Sophy admitted. “I think, perhaps, I should go into the kitchen and discover what there may be in the larder. For it is very likely, I must tell you, that my cousin Cecilia will arrive to dine here. And more than probably Charles also!”

“Oh, Miss Sophy, if only you’d have given us warning!” exclaimed Mrs. Clavering distressfully. “I’m sure I don’t know how to contrive dinner, not for the likes of you, miss, for I am not accustomed, and there’s nothing ready but a pig’s cheek, which Clavering fancied for his supper!”

“It is evident,” said the Marquesa, removing the plumed hat from her luxuriant curls and laying it down on a chair, “that this moza de cocina knows nothing, so that I must exert myself a little. That is bad, but worse, infinitamente, that we should starve! And you will remember it, Sophie, and be grateful to me, so that you do not quarrel with me! For I must tell you, de una vez, that I think it will not suit me to be married to Sir Horace after all, for he is very restless, and Brazil I should not like, but, on the contrary I will remain in England, but an English cook I will not have! So I have married Sir Vincent, and I am now not the Marquesa de Villacanas, but Lady Talgarth, which is a name I cannot pronounce convenienteamente, but no matter! One must accustom oneself.”

This speech not unnaturally stunned her audience into silence for several moments. Sir Vincent drew out his snuffbox and delicately inhaled a pinch of his favorite mixture. It was he who broke the silence. “So the murder is out!” he remarked. “Do not look so aghast, Sophy! Remember that our dear Sancia is to cook the dinner!”

“This,” suddenly announced Mr. Fawnhope, who had not been attending to a word of the conversation, “is a singularly beautiful house! I shall go all over it.”

He then picked up the lamp from the table, and bore it off toward one of the doors that opened on to the hall. Sir Vincent took it from him and restored it to its place, saying kindly, “You shall do so, my dear young friend, but take this candle, if you please!”

“Sir Vincent,” said Sophy, a martial light in her eye, “if I were a man, you should suffer for this treachery!”

“Dear Sophy, you shoot better than nine out of ten men of my acquaintance, so if anyone of us had the forethought to bring with him a pair of dueling pistols — ?”

“No one,” said the Marquesa, with decision, “shall shoot a pistol, because it is of all things what I most detest, and, besides, it is more important that we should prepare dinner!”

“I suppose,” said Sophy regretfully, “that that is true. One must eat! But I now perceive how right my cousin Charles was to warn me to have nothing to do with you, Sir Vincent! I did not think you would have served Sir Horace such a backhanded turn!”

“All is fair, dear Sophy, in love and war!” he said sententiously.

She was obliged to bite back the retort that sprang to her lips. He smiled understandingly and moved toward her, taking her hand, and saying in a lowered voice, “Consider, Juno! My need is far greater than Sir Horace’s! How could I resist?”

“‘Amor ch’a null’amato amar perdona,’ “ dreamily remarked Mr. Fawnhope, whose peregrinations about the hall had brought him within earshot.

“Exactly so, my poet!” said Sir Vincent cordially.

“I need Miss Wraxton to translate that for me,” said Sophy, “but if it means what I think it does it is no such thing! However, there is nothing more foolish than to be making a great noise over what cannot be helped, so I shall say no more. Besides, I have more important things to think of!”

“Certainly that is so,” agreed the Marquesa. “There is a way of preparing fresh-killed chickens, so Vincent shall at once kill me two chickens, for chickens this woman tells me there are in abundance, and I shall contrive.”

She then withdrew with Mrs. Clavering to the kitchen premises, her demitrain of mull muslin sweeping regally behind her over the floor and picking up a great deal of dust on the way. Sophy and Sir Vincent followed her; and as Mr. Fawnhope had by this time discovered the library and had gone in to inspect the books by the light of his tallow candle, Lord Charlbury was left alone. He was soon rejoined by Sir Vincent, who came back into the hall bearing a crusted bottle and some glasses. “Sherry,” he said, setting down the glasses. “If the slaughter of chickens is my fate, I must be fortified. But I trust I shall prevail upon the retainer to commit the actual deed. How did you hurt your arm?”

“Sophy put a bullet through it,” replied his lordship.

“Did she indeed? What a redoubtable female she is, to be sure! I suppose she had her reasons?”

“They were not what you might be pardoned for imagining!” retorted Charlbury.

“I never indulge commonplace thoughts,” said Sir Vincent, carefully wiping the neck of the bottle and beginning to pour out the wine. “Not, at all events, in relation to the Grand Sophy. Here, try this! God knows how long it has lain in the cellar! I collect I don’t drink to your elopement?”

“Good God, no!” said Charlbury, almost blanching at the thought. “I am devoted to Sophy — quite and unalterably devoted to her — but heaven preserve me from marriage with her!”

“If heaven did not, I fancy Rivenhall would,” observed Sir Vincent. “This wine is perfectly tolerable. Don’t finish the bottle before I come back, and don’t waste it on the poet!”

He strolled off again, presumably to oversee the execution in the hen roost, and Lord Charlbury, rendering up silent thanks for his wounded arm, poured himself out a second glass of sherry. After a short interval, Mr. Fawnhope emerged from the library, bearing a worm-eaten volume in his hand. This he reverently displayed to his lordship, saying simply, “La Hermosura de Angelica! One never knows where one may light upon a treasure. I must show it to the Marquesa. Whose is this enchanting house?”

“Sir Horace Stanton-Lacy’s,” replied Charlbury, in some amusement.

“Providence must have led me to it. I could not imagine what brought me here, but it doesn’t signify. When I saw Sophy standing in the open doorway, holding aloft the lamp, the scales fell from my eyes, and all doubts were resolved. I am engaged to dine somewhere or other, but I shan’t regard it.”

“You don’t feel that you should perhaps ride back to town to keep your engagement?” suggested his lordship.

“No,” replied Mr. Fawnhope simply. “I prefer to be here. There is also a Galatea, but not an original copy.” He then sat down at the table and opened the book, poring over it until interrupted by Sophy, who came in with a bundle of candles tucked under one arm and a shallow wooden box held carefully between her hands. Beside her, a mixture of curiosity and jealousy, pranced her little greyhound, from time to time springing up to reach the box.

Mr. Fawnhope leaped to his feet and held out his hands to take the box from her. “Give it to me! An urn you might bear but not a sordid box!”

She relinquished it, saying practically, “Mrs. Clavering will bring that presently, but it is not yet time for the tea tray, you know. We have not dined! Careful! Poor little things, they have no mother!”

“Sophy, what in the world — ?” exclaimed Charlbury, perceiving that the box contained a brood of yellow ducklings. “You do not mean to cook these for dinner, I do trust?”

“Good gracious, no! Only Mrs. Clavering has been rearing them in the warmth of the kitchen, and Sancia complains that they will run under her feet. Set the box down in this corner, Augustus. Tina will not harm them!”

He obeyed her, and the ducklings, all vigorously cheeping, at once struggled out of the box, one of them, more venturesome than the rest, setting forth on an exploratory expedition. Sophy caught it and held it cupped in her hands, while Tina, quite disgusted, jumped onto a chair, and lay down with her head pointedly averted. Mr. Fawnhope’s smile swept across his face, and he quoted,

“‘Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch

One of her feathered creatures broke away!’”

“Yes, but I think that if we were to spread something over the top of the box they will not break away,” said Sophy. “Charlbury’s driving coat will answer famously! You do not object, Charlbury?”

“Yes, Sophy, I do object!” he said firmly, removing the garment from her hands.

“Very well, then — ” She stopped, for Tina had lifted her head, her ears on the prick, and had uttered a sharp bark. The sound of horses and of carriage wheels was heard. Sophy turned to Mr. Fawnhope, saying quickly, “Augustus, pray will you step into the kitchen — you will find it at the end of the passage at the back there — and desire Mrs. Clavering to give you a cloth, or a blanket, or some such thing? You need not make haste to return, for I daresay Sancia would like you to pluck a chicken!”

“Is the Marquesa in the kitchen?” said Mr. Fawnhope. “What is she doing there? I wish her to see this book I have found in the library!”

Sophy picked it up from the table and gave it to him. “Yes, pray show it to her! She will like it excessively! Pay no heed if you should chance to hear the doorbell. I will open the door!”

She fairly thrust him toward the door at the back of the hall, and, having seen him safely through it, shut it, and said in a conspiratorial voice, “Cecilia! Take care of the ducklings!”

She was still holding the one she had picked up, when she set the front door wide. The rain had stopped, and the moonlight showed through a break in the clouds. Hardly had Sophy opened the door than her cousin almost fell upon her neck. “Sophy! Oh, my dearest Sophy — No, it was too shocking of you! You must have known I could not wish — Sophy, Sophy, how could you do such a thing?”

“Cecy, pray take care! This poor little duckling! Oh, good God! Miss Wraxton!”

“Yes, Miss Stanton-Lacy, I!” said Miss Wraxton, joining the group in the porch. “You did not, I fancy, expect to see me!”

“No, and you will be very much in the way!” replied Sophy frankly. “Go in, Cecy!”

She gave her cousin a gentle push across the threshold as she spoke. Cecilia stood transfixed, as Charlbury, rising from his chair by the fire, stepped forward, his left arm interestingly reposing in its sling. Cecilia was carrying both a reticule and a feather muff, but she let both fall to the floor in her consternation. “Oh!” she exclaimed faintly. “You are hurt! Oh, Charlbury!”

She moved toward him with both hands held out, and his lordship, acting with great presence of mind, hurriedly disengaged his arm from the sling and received her in a comprehensive embrace. “No, no, dearest Cecilia! The merest scratch!” he assured her.

Such heroism caused Cecilia to shed tears. “It is all my fault! My wretched folly! I can never cease to blame myself! Charlbury, only tell me you forgive me!”

“Never, for wearing a hat which prevents my kissing you!” he said, with a shaken laugh.

She raised her head at that, smiling through her tears, and he contrived to kiss her in spite of the hat. Sophy, effectually blocking the entrance, observed this passage with all the air of one well satisfied with her labors.

“Will you be good enough to allow us to enter?” said Miss Wraxton, in frozen accents.

“Us?” said Sophy, quickly looking round. She perceived a stout figure behind Miss Wraxton, in a soaked coat and a sodden beaver, and, after peering incredulously for a moment, exclaimed, “Good God! Lord Bromford? Now, what the deuce does this mean?”

Cecilia, who had cast off her hat to join her muff on the floor raised her head from the broad shoulder that was supporting it, to say huskily, “Oh, Sophy, pray do not be cross with me! Indeed, it was not my doing! Charlbury, what happened? How do you come to be hurt?”

His lordship, still clasping her to his bosom, rolled an anguished eye at Sophy. She came promptly to his rescue. “Only a flesh wound, dearest Cecy! Footpads — or do I mean highwaymen? — yes, highwaymen! Just a flurry of shots, you know, and poor Charlbury had the misfortune to be hit! But they were driven off, and we took no other hurt. Charlbury behaved with the greatest presence of mind imaginable — perfectly cool, and more than a match for such rascals!”

“Oh, Charlbury!” sighed Cecilia, overcome by the thought of such intrepid conduct.

His lordship, soothingly patting her shoulder, could not resist asking, “How many of the desperate ruffians did I vanquish, Sophy?”

“That,” said Sophy, quelling him with a frown, “we shall never know!”

Miss Wraxton’s cool voice broke in on this. However glad she might be to see Cecilia’s difference with Charlbury made up, her sense of propriety was really lacerated by the spectacle of Cecilia nestling within his lordship’s arm. “My dear Cecilia, pray recollect yourself!” she said, blushing, and averting her gaze.

“I do not know what I should do!” suddenly announced Lord Bromford, in lamentable accents. “I came with the purpose of calling that fellow to book, but I have caught a cold!”

“If that is to my address,” said Charlbury, “a cold may well be the least of the ills that will shortly befall you! Don’t tread on the ducklings!”

“No, indeed!” said Sophy, swooping on one that had narrowly escaped death under Bromford’s foot. “What a clumsy creature you are! Do, pray, take heed where you are stepping!”

“I should not be amazed if already I have a fever,” said Bromford, uneasily eying the ducklings. “Miss Wraxton, these birds! One does not keep birds in the house! I do not understand why they are running all over the floor. There is another! I do not like it. It is not what I have been used to.”

“I hope, dear Lord Bromford, that nothing that has occurred this day is what either you or I has been used to,” responded Miss Wraxton. “Do let me beg of you to take off that greatcoat! Believe that it was no wish of mine that you were compelled to ride through such a downpour! If you have done your constitution any lasting injury I can never forgive myself for having accepted your escort! Your boots are wet through! Nothing can be more fatal than chilled feet! Miss Stanton-Lacy, is it too much to request that a servant — I presume there is a servant here? — should be sent for to remove Lord Bromford’s boots?”

“Yes, because he has gone out to kill chickens,” replied Sophy. “Cecy, help me to collect the ducklings, and put them back into the box! If we were to place your muff on top of them they will very likely believe it to be their mother, and settle down!”

Cecilia having no fault to find with this scheme, it was at once put into execution. Miss Wraxton, who had coaxed Lord Bromford into a deep chair by the fire, said, “This levity will not serve, Miss Stanton-Lacy! Even you will allow that your conduct demands some explanation! Are you aware of the terrible consequences which must have followed on this — this escapade, had your cousin and I not come to rescue you from the disgrace you appear to regard so lightly?”

Lord Bromford sneezed.

“Oh, hush, Eugenia!” begged Cecilia. “How can you talk so? All’s well that ends well!”

“You must be lost to every scruple of female delicacy, Cecilia, if you can think it well for your cousin to show such a brazen face, when she has lost both character and reputation!”

The door at the back of the hall opened to admit the Marquesa, a sacking apron tied round her waist and a large ladle in her hand. “Eggs I must instantly have!” she announced. “And Lope de Vega I will not have, though in general a fine poet, but not in the kitchen! Someone must go to the chicken house, and tell Vincent to bring me eggs. Who are these people?”

It might have been supposed that the appearance on the scene of the Marquesa would have filled Miss Wraxton’s Christian soul with relief, but no such emotion was visible in her countenance, which, on the contrary, froze into an expression of such chagrin as to be almost ludicrous. She could find not a word to say and was unable to command herself enough even to shake hands with the Marquesa.

Lord Bromford, always punctilious, rose from his chair and bowed. Sophy presented him, and he begged pardon for having contracted what he feared would prove to be a dangerous cold. The Marquesa held him off with the ladle, saying, “If you have a cold, do not approach me! Now I see that it is Miss Rivenhall whose beauty is entirely English, and that other one, also in the English estilo, but less beautiful. I do not think two chickens will be enough, so that man with the cold must eat the pig’s cheek. But eggs I must have!”

Having delivered herself of this ultimatum, she withdrew, paying not the smallest heed to Lord Bromford’s agitated protest that all forms of pork were poison to him, and that a bowl of thin gruel was all that he felt himself able to swallow. He seemed to feel that Miss Wraxton was the only person among those present who was likely to sympathize with him, for he looked piteously at her. She responded at once, assuring him that he should not be asked to eat the pig’s cheek. “If it were possible to remove you from this draughty hall!” she said, casting an angry glance at Sophy. “Had I known that I was coming to an establishment which appears to be something between a fowlyard and bedlam, I would never have set forth from town!”

“Well, I must say I wish you had known it, then,” said Sophy candidly. “We could have been comfortable enough, if only you and Lord Bromford had minded your own business, and now I suppose we must make gruel, and mustard foot baths!”

“A mustard foot bath,” said Lord Bromford eagerly, “would be the very thing! I do not say that it will entirely arrest the chill; we must not raise our hopes too high! But if we can prevent its descending upon the lungs it will be a great thing! Thank you! I am very much obliged to you!”

“Good gracious, you absurd creature, I did not mean it!” Sophy cried, breaking into laughter.

“No!” said Miss Wraxton. “We may readily believe you have not a grain of womanly compassion, Miss Stanton-Lacy! Do not be uneasy, Lord Bromford! If any efforts of mine can save you from illness they shall not be spared!”

He pressed her hand in a speaking way and allowed her to press him gently down again into his chair.

“Meanwhile,” said Charlbury, “let us not forget that eggs the Marquesa must have! I had better try to find Talgarth and the hen house.”

Sophy, who was looking thoughtful, said slowly, “Yes. And I think — Charlbury, bring a candle into the breakfast parlor, and let us see if it is warm enough yet for Lord Bromford to sit in!”

He went with her into this apartment and had no sooner passed the doorway than she clasped his wrist, and said in an urgent undervoice, “Never mind the eggs! Go to the stables, and direct the Ombersley servants to pole up the horses again! You may change them at the inn in the village, or, if not there, at Epsom! Take Cecilia back to London! Only think how embarrassing for her to be obliged to meet Augustus now! She would dislike it excessively! Besides, it is quite ridiculous for so many people to be crowded into the house, and not at all what I bargained for!”

He grimaced, but said, “If I do it, will you go with us?”

“What, to sit bodkin between you! No, I thank you!”

“But I cannot leave you here!”

“Nonsense! It would not suit me at all to be going to London yet!”

He set the candlestick down, and took her hands in his, and held them firmly. “Sophy, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Thank you, my dear! You may command me in anything. Shall I remove Miss Wraxton?”

“No, for I have had a capital notion about her. She shall stay to nurse Bromford, and very likely they will make a match of it!”

His shoulders shook. “Oh, Sophy, Sophy!”

“No, do not laugh! I do feel that I ought to make some provision for her, poor girl! I cannot permit her to marry Charles, and make them all unhappy at Ombersley house, but I am persuaded she and Bromford would deal extremely. Do not make me any more pretty speeches, but go down to the stables at once! I’ll tell Cecy!”

She then thrust him back into the hall, and, while he let himself out of the house, went back to the group about the fire, and said, “It is tolerably cozy in the parlor, and if you choose to sit there for a little while, Lord Bromford, one of the bedchambers shall be prepared for you, and I will send Clavering to pull off your boots. Do you take him in, Miss Wraxton, and see him comfortably bestowed!”

“I trust the chimney may not smoke as badly as this one!” said Miss Wraxton acidly. “Nothing could be worse! Lord Bromford has coughed twice already!”

“How shocking! You should take him away at once.”

His lordship, who was sitting in a miserable huddle, shivering and sneezing, thanked her in a feeble voice and rose from his chair with Miss Wraxton’s kindly help. Hardly had they gone into the parlor, than Mr. Fawnhope came into the hall, saying severely, “The drawing of hens is revolting! No one should be called upon to witness such an operation! The Marquesa must have eggs.”

Cecilia, who had given a violent start, and perceptibly changed color, exclaimed, “Augustus!”

“Cecilia!” said Mr. Fawnhope, staring at her in astonishment. “You were not here before, were you?”

“No,” she said, blushing furiously. “Oh, no! I — I came with Miss Wraxton!”

“Oh, was that how it was?” he said, rather relieved. “I did not think I had seen you.”

She said resolutely, but in some little agitation, “Augustus, I will not trifle with you! I must tell you that I find I have made a great mistake. I cannot marry you!”

“Noble, noble girl!” Mr. Fawnhope said, much moved. “I honor you for this frankness and must ever deem myself fortunate to have been permitted to adore you. The experience has purified and strengthened me. You have inspired me with a poetic fervor for which the world may yet thank you, as I do! But marriage is not for such as I am. I must put aside the thought. I do put it aside! You should marry Charlbury, but my play you must allow me to dedicate to you!”

“Th-thank you!” faltered Cecilia, a good deal taken aback.

“Well, she is going to marry Charlbury,” said Sophy bracingly. “And now that that is settled, Augustus, pray will you go and find the eggs for Sancia?”

“I know nothing of eggs,” he said. “I fetched Talgarth from the cellar, and he has gone in search of them. I am going to write a poem that has been taking shape in my brain this past hour. Should you object to my entitling it ‘To Sophia, Holding a Lamp?’”

“Not in the least,” said Sophy affably. “Take this candle, and go into the library. Shall I tell Clavering to light a fire there for you?”

“It is of no consequence, thank you,” he replied absently, receiving the candlestick from her and wandering off in the direction of the library.

No sooner had the door closed behind him than Cecilia: said, in some confusion, “Has he understood me? Why did you not tell me he was here, Sophy? I do not know how to look him in the face!”

“No, and you shall not be called upon to do so, dearest? Cecy! Charlbury has gone to order the chaise. You must back to Berkeley Square immediately! Only conceive of your aunt’s anxiety!”

Cecilia, who had been about to demur, wavered perceptibly at this. She was still wavering when Lord Charlbury can back to the house, cheerfully announcing that the chaise would be at the door in five minutes’ time. Sophy picked up her cousin’s hat and fitted it becomingly over sunny locks. Between her efforts and those of Lord Charlbury she was presently escorted, resistless, out of the house, handed up into the chaise. His lordship, pausing only bestow upon his benefactress a hearty embrace, jumped after her; the steps were let up, the door slammed upon the happy couple, and the equipage was driven away.

Sophy having waved a last farewell from the porch, turned back into the house, where she found Miss Wraxton awaiting her an alarming state of frigidity. Miss Wraxton, apprehending, she said, that no assistance from the Marquesa need be expected, desired to be conducted to the kitchen, where proposed to brew a posset, used in her family for generation as a cure for colds.

Not only did Sophy lead her to the kitchen, but she also quelled the Marquesa’s protests and commanded the Claverings to set water on to boil for a mustard foot bath. The unfortunate Claverings, laboring up the back stairs with coals, blankets, and cans of hot water, were kept fully occupied for nearly half an hour, at the end of which time, Lord Bromford was tenderly escorted upstairs a to the best spare bedroom, divested of his boots, and his coat, coaxed into the dressing gown Sir Vincent had had the forethought to pack into his valise, and installed in a winged chair by the fire. Sir Vincent’s protests at having not only his dressing gown but also his nightshirt and cap wrested from him were silenced by Sophy’s representations that she herself was relinquishing to Miss Wraxton her portmanteau, with all the night gear which it contained. “And considering how unhandsome your behavior has been, Sir Vincent, I must say that I shall think it excessively shabby of you if you demur at rendering me this small service!” she declared roundly.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And you, Sophy? Will you not be remaining here for the night?” He laughed, seeing her at a loss for an answer, and said, “In a previous age you would have been burnt at the stake, and rightly so, Juno! Very well. I will play your game!”

Within half an hour of this passage, Sophy, seated at the able in the hall, which she had drawn into the inglenook by the fire, heard the sound for which she had been waiting. She was engaged in building card houses, having found an aged and grimy pack in the breakfast parlor, and she made no attempt to answer the imperative summons of the bell. Clavering came into the hall from the back premises, looking harassed, and opened the door. Mr. Rivenhall’s decisive accents pleasurably assailed Sophy’s ears. “Lacy Manor? Very well! Be good enough to direct my groom to the stables! I’ll announce myself!”

Mr. Rivenhall then shut the aged servitor out of the house and stepped into the hall, shaking the raindrops from his curly-brimmed beaver. His eye alighted on Sophy, absorbed in architecture, and he said with the greatest amiability imaginable, “Good evening, Sophy! I am afraid you must have quite given me up, but it has been raining, you know, the moonlight quite obscured by clouds!”

At this point, Tina, who had been leaping up at him in an ecstasy of delight, began to bark, so he was obliged to acknowledge her welcome before he could again make himself heard, Sophy, laying a card delicately upon her structure, said, “Charles, this is too kind in you! Have you come to rescue me from the consequences of my indiscretion?”

“No, to wring your neck!”

She opened her eyes at him. “Charles! Don’t you know that I have ruined my reputation?”

He took off his driving coat, shook it, and cast it over a chair back. “Indeed? In that event, I am quite out. I was ready to swear I should find the Marquesa with you!”

The ready laughter sprang to her eyes. “How odious you are! How came you to guess that?”

“I know you too well. Where’s my sister?”

Sophy resumed her house building. “Oh, she has driven back to London with Charlbury! I daresay their chaise may have met you on your way.”

“Very likely. I was in no case to be studying the panels of chance vehicles. Did Miss Wraxton accompany them?”

She looked up. “No, how do you know that Miss Wraxton came with Cecilia?” she asked.

“She was so obliging as to send a note round to White’s informing me of her intention,” he replied grimly. “Is she here still?”

“Well, she is, but I fancy she is very much occupied,” said Sophy. She bent to pick up one of the ducklings, which, awakening from a refreshing slumber under Cecilia’s muff, had climbed out of the box again, and was trying to establish itself in the flounces of her gown. “Take this, dear Charles, while I pour you out a glass of sherry!”

Mr. Rivenhall, automatically extending his hand, found himself in possession of a ball of yellow down. It did not seem to be worth while to inquire why he was given a duckling to hold, so he sat down on the table’s edge, stroking the creature with one finger and watching his cousin.

“That, of course,” said Sophy serenely, “explains why you have come.”

“It explains nothing of the sort, and well you know it!” said Mr. Rivenhall.

“How wet your coat is!” remarked Sophy, spreading it out before the fire, “I do trust you may not have caught a chill!”

“Of course I have not caught a chill!” he said impatiently. “Besides, it has not been raining this last half hour!”

She handed him a glass of sherry. “I am so much relieved! Poor Lord Bromford contracted the most shocking cold! He had meant to have called Charlbury out, you know, but when he reached us he could only sneeze.”

“Bromford?” he exclaimed. “You do not mean to tell me he is here?”

“Yes, indeed. Miss Wraxton brought him. I think she hoped he might have offered for me and so saved my reputation, but the poor man was quite prostrated by this horrid chill, which he fears may descend upon his lungs. It put all else out of his mind, and one cannot be surprised at it.”

“Sophy, are you trying to humbug me?” demanded Mr. Rivenhall suspiciously. “Even Eugenia would not bring that blockhead down upon you!”

“Miss Wraxton does not consider him a blockhead. She says he is a man of sense, and one who — ”

“Thank you! I have heard enough!” he interrupted. “Here, take this creature! Where is Eugenia?”

She received the duckling from him and restored it to its brethren in the box. “Well, if she is not still brewing possets in the kitchen, I expect you may find her with Bromford in the best spare bedroom,” she replied.

“What?”

“Persuading him to swallow a little thin gruel,” explained Sophy, looking the picture of innocence. “The second door at the top of the stairs, dear Charles!”

Mr. Rivenhall tossed off the glass of sherry, set it down, informed his cousin ominously that he would deal with her presently, and strode toward the stairs, accompanied by Tina, who frisked gaily at his heels, apparently convinced that he was about to provide sport for her of no common order. Sophy went down the passage to inform the harassed Marquesa that although two of the dinner guests had departed, another had appeared in their stead.

Mr. Rivenhall, meanwhile, had mounted the stairs, and had, without ceremony, flung open the door of the best spare bedroom. A domestic scene met his affronted gaze. In a chair drawn up beside a clear fire sat Lord Bromford, a screen drawn to protect his person from the draught from the window, both his feet in a steaming bath of mustard and water, a blanket reinforcing Sir Vincent’s dressing gown over his shoulders, and in his hands a bowl of gruel and a spoon. Hovering solicitously about him was Miss Wraxton, ready either to add more hot water to the bath from the kettle on the hob or to replace the bowl of gruel with the posset of her making.

“Upon my word!” said Mr. Rivenhall explosively.

“The draught!” protested his lordship. “Miss Wraxton! I can feel the air blowing about my head!”

“Pray close the door, Charles!” said Miss Wraxton sharply. “Have you no consideration? Lord Bromford is extremely unwell!”

“So I perceive!” he retorted, advancing into the room. “Perhaps, my dear Eugenia, you would like to explain to me what the devil you mean by this?”

She replied instantly, her color heightened, “Thanks to your sister’s inhumanity — I can call it nothing else — in refusing to permit me to offer a seat to Lord Bromford in the chaise, he has taken a shocking chill, which I only pray may not have a lasting effect upon his constitution!”

“I never credited Cecilia with so much good sense! If she had had enough to prevent her, and you, from setting forth upon an expedition which was as needless as it was meddlesome, I should be even more grateful! You have for once in your life been thoroughly at fault, Eugenia! Let it be a lesson to you to be a little less busy in future!”

Those best acquainted with Mr. Rivenhall’s powers of self-expression would have considered this speech a very mild reproof. Miss Wraxton, in whose presence he had hitherto most meticulously guarded his tongue, could scarcely believe her ears.

“Charles!” she uttered, outraged.

“Did you imagine that you would make me believe ill of Sophy with your foolish and spiteful letter?” he demanded. “You have tried to set me against her from the outset, but you overreached yourself today, my girl! How dared you write in such terms to me? How could you have been so crassly stupid as to suppose that Sophy could ever need your countenance to set her right in the eyes of the world, or that I would believe one word of slander against her?”

“Sir!” said Lord Bromford, with as much dignity as could be expected of a man with both feet in a mustard bath. “You shall answer to me for those words!”

“Certainly! When and where you please!” replied Mr. Rivenhall, with alarming promptitude.

“I beg you will not heed him, Lord Bromford!” cried Miss Wraxton, much agitated. “He is beside himself! If a meeting were to take place between you on my account I could never hold up my head again! Pray be calm! I am sure your pulse is tumultuous, and how shall I ever face dear Lady Bromford?”

He clasped her restraining hand and held it, saying in a moved voice, “Too good, too excellent creature! With all your attainments, your scholarship, still to retain those attributes peculiar to your womanhood! I cannot but think of the poet’s lines — ”

“Take care!” interpolated Mr. Rivenhall disagreeably. “You thought of them in connection with my cousin, and it won’t do to repeat yourself !”

“Sir!” said Lord Bromford, glaring at him. “I was about to say that Miss Wraxton has shown herself in very sooth — ”

“A ministering angel! So I knew! Try for another poet!”

“I must request you, sir,” said Miss Wraxton icily, “to leave this room immediately — and to take that horrid little dog of Miss Stanton-Lacy’s with you! I can only be thankful that my eyes have been opened to your true character before it was too late! You will oblige me by sending an announcement to the Gazette that our engagement is at an end!”

“It shall be done at once,” said Mr. Rivenhall, bowing. “Pray accept my profound regrets and my earnest wishes for your future happiness, ma’am!”

“Thank you! If I cannot felicitate you upon the contract you are no doubt about to enter into, at least I can pray that you may not be too sadly disappointed in the character of the lady you mean to marry!” said Miss Wraxton, a spot of color burning in either cheek.

“No, I don’t think I shall be disappointed,” said Mr. Rivenhall, with a sudden and rueful grin, “Shocked, maddened, and stunned perhaps, but not disappointed! Come, Tina!”

Descending again to the hall, he found Sophy seated on the floor beside the ducklings’ box, preventing their attempts to escape. Without looking up, she said, “Sir Vincent has found several bottles of excellent Burgundy in the cellar, and Sancia says we shall not be obliged to eat the pig’s cheek after all.”

“Talgarth?” exclaimed Mr. Rivenhall, bristling with hostility. “What the devil brings him here?”

“He came with Sancia. It is the most shocking thing, Charles, and how I am to face Sir Horace I don’t know! He has married Sancia! I cannot think what is to be done!”

“Nothing at all. Your father will be delighted! I forgot to inform you, my dear Cousin, that he arrived in town sometime before I left and is even now in Berkeley Square, awaiting your return. He appeared to feel no small degree of annoyance at learning of your efforts to save the Marquesa from Talgarth.”

“Sir Horace in London?” Sophy exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Oh, Charles, and I not there to welcome him! Why did you not tell me at once?”

“I had other things to think of. Get up!”

She allowed him to pull her to her feet, but said, “Charles, are you freed from your entanglement?”

“I am,” he replied. “Miss Wraxton has terminated our engagement.”

“And Cecy has terminated hers to Augustus, so now I can — ”

“Sophy, I don’t pretend to know why she should have done so, any more than I understand why you keep a brood of ducklings in the house, but neither of these problems interests me very particularly at this present! I have something more important to say to you!”

“Of course!” said Sophy. “Your horse! Well, indeed, Charles, I am very sorry to have displeased you so much!”

“No!” said Mr. Rivenhall, grasping her shoulders, and giving her a shake. “You know — Sophy, you know I could not mean — You did not run away from London because of that?”

“But, Charles, naturally I did! I had to have some excuse! You must perceive that I had to!”

“Devil!” said Mr. Rivenhall, and caught her into so crushing an embrace that she protested, and Tina danced round them, barking excitedly. “Quiet!” commanded Mr. Rivenhall. He took Sophy’s throat between his hands, pushing up her chin. “Will you marry me, vile and abominable girl that you are?”

“Yes, but mind, it is only to save my neck from being wrung!” Sophy replied.

The opening of the library door made him release her, and look quickly over his shoulder. Mr. Fawnhope, wearing an expression of almost complete abstraction, came into the hall with a paper in his hand. “There is no ink in there,” he complained, “and I have broken the point of my pencil. I have abandoned the notion of hailing you as vestal virgin; there is something awkward in those syllables. My opening line now reads Goddess, whose steady hands upheld — But I must have ink!”

With these words, and without paying the least heed to Mr. Rivenhall, he walked across to the door leading to the back premises and disappeared through it.

Mr. Rivenhall turned a face of undisguised horror upon Sophy. “Good God!” he said. “You might have warned me that he was here! And what the deuce did he mean by that stuff?”

“Well, I think,” said Sophy confidentially, “that he now means to be in love with me, Charles. He likes the way I hold a lamp, and he says he would like to see me with an urn.”

“Well, he is not going to see you with an urn!” said Mr. Rivenhall, revolted. He cast a glance round the hall, saw a pelisse lying on one chair, and snatched it up. “Put this on! Where is your hat?”

“But, Charles, we cannot leave poor Sancia with all these dreadful people in the house! It is too base!”

“Yes, we can! You don’t imagine I am going to sit down to dinner with Eugenia and that damned poet, do you? Is this your muff? Must we take these ducklings?”

“No, it is Cecilia’s, and now they will be all over the floor again! Charles, how provoking of you!”

Sir Vincent, who had come into the hall with a couple of bottles, set them down in the hearth, saying, “How do you do, Rivenhall? Sophy, is there any ink in the house? The poet is searching for some in the larder and driving my poor Sancia distracted.”

“Talgarth,” said Mr. Rivenhall, firmly grasping Sophy by one wrist, “I beg you will take care of these infernal ducklings, and I wish you a very pleasant evening! Sir Horace has arrived in town, and I must instantly restore his daughter to him!”

“Rivenhall,” said Sir Vincent gravely, “I perfectly understand you, and I applaud your presence of mind. Allow me to offer you my felicitations! I will convey your apologies to my wife. Let me advise you to lose no time in taking your departure! The poet will all too shortly return!”

“Sir Vincent!” cried Sophy, dragged irresistibly to the door. “Give my portmanteau to Miss Wraxton, and beg her to make what use she pleases of the contents! Charles, this is crazy! Did you come in your curricle? What if it should begin to rain again? I shall be drenched!”

“Then you will be well served!” retorted her unchivalrous cousin.

“Charles!” uttered Sophy, shocked. “You cannot love me!”

Mr. Rivenhall pulled the door to behind them, and in a very rough fashion jerked her into his arms, and kissed her. “I don’t. I dislike you excessively!” he said savagely.

Entranced by these lover like words, Miss Stanton-Lacy returned his embrace with fervor, and meekly allowed herself to be led off to the stables.