The Grand Sophy

Chapter 9

SHORTLY AFTER this not entirely successful day in country, Mr. Rivenhall announced his intention of going down to Ombersley for a spell. His mother had no objection to advance, but realizing that the dread moment of disclosure had now come, said, with an assumption of calm she was far from feeling, that she hoped he would come back to London in time to attend Sophy’s party.

“Is it so important?” he asked. “I have no turn for dancing, Mama, and such an evening as you will no doubt pass is of all things the most insipid!”

“Well, it is rather important,” she confessed. “It would be thought strange if you were absent, dear Charles!”

“Good heavens, Mama, I have been absent from all such affairs in this house!”

“As a matter of fact, this party is to be a little larger than we first thought it would be!” she said desperately.

He bent one of his disconcerting stares upon her. “Indeed! I had collected that some twenty persons were to be invited?”

“There — there will be a few more than that!” she said.

“How many more?”

She became intent on disentangling the fringe of her shawl from the arm of her chair. “Well, we thought perhaps it would be best — since it is our first party for your cousin, and your uncle particularly desired me to launch her upon society — to give a set ball, Charles! And your father promises to bring the Duke of York to it, if only for half an hour! It seems he is well acquainted with Horace. I am sure it is most gratifying!”

“How many persons, ma’am, have you invited to this precious ball?” demanded Mr. Rivenhall, ungratified.

“Not — not above four hundred!” faltered his guilty parent. “And they will not all of them come, dear Charles!”

“Four hundred!” he ejaculated. “I need not ask whose doing this is! And who, ma’am, is to foot the bill for this entertainment?”

“Sophy — that is to say, your uncle, of course! I assure you the cost is not to come upon you!”

He was not in the least soothed by this, but, on the contrary, rapped out: “Do you imagine I will permit that wretched girl to pay for parties in this house? If you have been mad enough, ma’am, to consent to this scheme — ” Lady Ombersley prudently sought refuge in tears, and began to grope for her smelling salts. Her son eyed her in a baffled way, and said with painstaking restraint, “Pray do not cry, Mama! I am well aware whom I have to thank for this.”

An interruption, welcome to Lady Ombersley, occurred in the shape of Selina, who bounced into the room, exclaiming: “Oh, Mama! When we gave the ball for Cecilia, did we — ” She then perceived her eldest brother, and broke off short, looking extremely conscious.

“Go on!” said Mr. Rivenhall grimly.

Selina gave her head a slight toss. “I suppose you know all about Sophy’s ball. Well, I am sure I don’t care, for you cannot stop it now that all the cards of invitation have gone out, and three hundred and eighty-seven persons have accepted! Mama, Sophy says that when she and Sir Horace held a great reception in Vienna, Sir Horace warned the police officers of it, so that they were able to keep the street clear, and tell the coachmen where to go, and so on. Did we not do the same for Cecilia’s ball?”

“Yes, and the link boys as well,” replied Lady Ombersley, emerging briefly from her handkerchief, but retiring into its protection again immediately.

“Yes, Mama, and the champagne!” said Selina, determined to discharge the whole of her errand. “Should it be ordered from Gunter’s, with all the rest?”

“You may inform our cousin,” interrupted Mr. Rivenhall, “that the champagne will be provided from our own cellars!” He then turned his shoulder on his young sister, and demanded of his parent, “How does it come about that Eugenia has not mentioned this affair to me? Has she not been invited to your ball?”

One desperately inquiring eye emerged from the handkerchief wildly seeking enlightenment of Selina.

“Good gracious, Charles!” said that damsel, shocked. “Can you have forgotten the bereavement in Miss Wraxton’s family? I am sure if she has told us once she has told us a dozen times that propriety forbids her to attend any but the most quiet parties!”

“This, too, is my cousin’s work, I collect!” he said, his lips tightening. “I must say, ma’am, I might have expected, if you were bent on this folly, that you would have sent a card to my promised wife!”

“Of course, Charles, of course!” said Lady Ombersley. “If it has not been done, it is a foolish oversight! Thought it is perfectly true that Eugenia has told us that while she is in black gloves — ”

“Oh, Mama, don’t!” cried Selina impetuously. “You know she will cast a damper over everything, with that long face of hers, just like a horse — ”

“How dare you?” interrupted Mr. Rivenhall furiously.

Selina looked a little frightened, but muttered, “Well, she does, whatever you may choose to think, Charles!”

“More of my cousin’s work, no doubt!”

Selina flushed, and cast down her eyes. Mr. Rivenhall turned to his mother. “Be so good as to tell me, ma’am, in what manner this affair is arranged between you and Sophy! Does she give you a draft on my uncle’s bank, or what?”

“I — I don’t precisely know!” said Lady Ombersley. “I mean, it has not been discussed yet! Indeed, Charles, I did not know myself until just the other day that so many people had been invited!”

“Well, I know, Mama!” said Selina. “The bills are all sent to Sophy, and you will not be troubled with them at all.”

“I thank you!” Charles said, and walked abruptly out of the room.

He found his cousin in the small salon at the back of the house which was generally known as the Young Ladies’ Room. She was engaged in compiling some kind of a list, but she looked up at the opening of the door and smiled at Charles. “Are you looking for Cecilia? She has gone out to do some shopping in Bond Street with Miss Adderbury.”

“No, I am not looking for Cecilia!” he answered. “My business is with you, Cousin, and will not take me long. I am informed that my mother is giving a ball in your honor on Tuesday, and by some extraordinary piece of mismanagement the bills for this have been sent to you. Will you be so obliging as to find them and give them to me?”

“On your high ropes again, Charles?” she said, lifting her brows. “This is Sir Horace’s ball, not my aunt’s. There is no mismanagement.”

“Sir Horace may be master in his own house — though that I doubt — but he is not master in this one! If my mother chooses to hold a ball, she may do so, but in no circumstances will the charge fall upon my uncle. It is intolerable that you should have persuaded my mother to consent to such a scheme! Give me what bills you have, it you please!”

“But I do not please,” replied Sophy. “Neither Sir Horace nor you, dear Cousin, is the master in this house. I have my Uncle Ombersley’s consent to what I have done.” She saw with satisfaction that she had utterly taken him aback, and added, “If I were you, Charles, I would go for a nice walk in the Park. I have always found that there is nothing so beneficial to the temper as exercise in the fresh air.”

He controlled himself with a strong effort. “Cousin, I am in earnest! I cannot and I will not tolerate such a situation as this!”

“But no one has asked you to tolerate anything at all,” she pointed out. “If my uncle and aunt are satisfied with my arrangements, pray what have you to say to them?”

He said through shut teeth, “I think I told you once before, Cousin, that we did very well here before you came to upset all our comfort!”

“Yes, you did, and what you meant, Charles, was that until I came no one dared to flout you. You should be grateful to me — or at any rate, Miss Wraxton should, for I am sure you would have made an odious husband before I came to stay with your mama.”

This put him in mind of a complaint he could with justice make. He said stiffly. “Since you have brought up Miss Wraxton’s name, I shall be much obliged to you, Cousin, if you will refrain from telling my sisters that she has a face like a horse!”

“But, Charles, no blame attaches to Miss Wraxton! She cannot help it, and that, I assure you, I have always pointed out to your sisters!”

“I consider Miss Wraxton’s countenance particularly well bred!”

“Yes, indeed, but you have quite misunderstood the matter! I meant a particularly well-bred horse!”

“You meant, as I am perfectly aware, to belittle Miss Wraxton!”

“No, no! I am very fond of horses!” Sophy said earnestly.

Before he could stop himself he found that he was replying to this. “Selina, who repeated the remark to me, is not fond of horses, however, and she — ” He broke off, seeing how absurd it was to argue on such a head.

“I expect she will be, when she has lived in the same house with Miss Wraxton for a month or two,” said Sophy encouragingly.

Mr. Rivenhall, restraining an impulse to box his cousin’s ears, flung out of the room, slamming the door behind him. At the foot of the stairs he encountered Lord Bromford, who was handing his hat and overcoat to a footman. Mr. Rivenhall, seeing how he might, in some measure, be revenged on Sophy, greeted him with great affability, asked him if meant to attend Tuesday’s ball, and, upon hearing that lordship was much looking forward to the engagement, said “Have you come to bespeak my cousin’s hand for the cotillion? You are wise! She will certainly be besieged with solicitations! Dassett, you will find Miss Stanton-Lacy in the Yellow Saloon! Take his lordship up to her!”

“Do you think I should?” said Lord Bromford anxiously. “It was not danced in Jamaica, you know, but I have been taking lessons, and two of the steps I know tolerably well. Will there be waltzing? I do not waltz. I do not think it seemly. I hope Miss Stanton-Lacy does not waltz. I do not like to see a lady doing so.”

“Everyone waltzes nowadays,” said Mr. Rivenhall, bent on his fell intent. “You should take lessons in that too, Bromford, or you will be quite cut out!”

“I do not think,” said Lord Bromford, having considered the matter gravely, “that one should sacrifice one’s principles to gratify a female’s whim. I do not think the cotillion objectionable, although I am aware that there are many who do not permit it to be danced in their houses. In the country dance I am prepared to take my part. There is authority for the exercise of dancing, by which I mean to signify the round, or country dance, in the works of the ancients. Plato, you know, recommended that children should be taught to dance; and several classic writers deemed it an excellent recreation after serious study.”

But at this point Mr. Rivenhall bethought him of a pressing engagement and fled the house. Lord Bromford followed the butler upstairs to the drawing room, Dassett having his own ideas on the impropriety of ushering single gentlemen into the Young Ladies’ Room. When Sophy, duly chaperoned by Selina, joined him there, he lost no time in begging her to dance the cotillion with him. Sophy, trusting that one of her Peninsular friends would come to her rescue, said how sorry she was to be obliged to refuse him. She was, she said, already engaged. His face fell, and he looked even a little offended, exclaiming, “How can this be, when your cousin told me to make haste to be first with you?”

“My cousin Charles? Did he indeed?” said Sophy appreciatively. “Well, no doubt he did not know that my hand has been claimed these past three days. Perhaps we may stand up together for one of the country dances.”

He bowed, and said, “I have been telling your cousin that we have good authority for indulging in country dances. They cannot, I believe, be considered harmful. The waltz, on the other hand, I cannot approve of.”

“Oh, do you not waltz? I am so glad — I mean, one does not think of you indulging in anything so frivolous, Lord Bromford!”

He appeared to be pleased by this; he settled himself deeper in his chair, and said, “You raise an interesting thesis, ma’am. One is familiar with the phrase, A man may be known by the company he keeps; can it be that he may also be known by the dances he permits himself to indulge in?”

Since neither lady had any views to advance on this subject, it was fortunate that his question was purely rhetorical. He began to expand the topic and was only interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Wychbold, who came first to offer to escort Sophy and her cousins to witness a wild beast show, and second to beg the honor of partnering her in the cotillion. She was obliged to deny him, but with regret, for Mr. Wychbold was a notable dancer, performing every step in the cotillion with grace and elegance.

However, when Tuesday dawned she had acquired a far from contemptible partner in Lord Francis Wolvey. The fact that he had first applied for Miss Rivenhall’s hand she bore with great fortitude, saying that in Christian charity to all other young females Cecilia should lose no time in disposing of herself in wedlock.

It was plain from the outset that the ball was to be one of the season’s successes. Even the weather favored it. From dawn till dinnertime Ombersley House was the scene of restless activity, and the road outside noisy with the wheels of tradesmen’s carts and the whistling of innumerable errand boys.

Mr. Rivenhall arrived from the country just as two men in shirt sleeves and leather breeches were erecting an awning across the flagway to the road and another, wearing a baize apron, laying a red carpet down the steps, under Dassett’s lofty supervision. Inside the house, Mr. Rivenhall almost collided with a footman, staggering in the direction of the ballroom with a gigantic potted palm clasped to his bosom, and avoided him only to be faintly screamed at by the housekeeper, who was carrying a pile of the best table damask to the dining room. Dassett, who had followed Mr. Rivenhall into the house, informed him, with satisfaction, that they would sit down thirty to dinner at eight o’clock. He added that her ladyship was laid down upon her bed in preparation for the revels, and that his lordship had personally selected the wines to be served at dinner. Mr. Rivenhall, who seemed to be resigned rather than delighted, nodded, and asked whether any letters awaited him.

“No, sir,” replied Dassett. “I should mention that the band of the Scots Grays will play during supper, Miss Sophy being acquainted with the Colonel, who will be amongst the dinner guests. A vast improvement, if I may say so, sir, on the Pandean pipes, which have become quite common since we had them for Miss Cecilia’s ball last year. Miss Sophy, I venture to say, is a lady as knows precisely how things should be done. A great pleasure, if I may be pardoned the liberty, to work for Miss Sophy, for she thinks of everything, and I fancy there will be no hitch to mar the festivities.”

Mr. Rivenhall grunted and went off to his own apartments. When he next appeared, it was to join the rest of his family in the drawing room a few minutes only before eight o’clock. His two youngest sisters, who were deriving much entertainment from hanging over the bannisters of the staircase leading to the schoolroom floor, informed him in penetrating whispers that he looked so smart they could not believe that there would be any other gentleman to rival him. He looked up, laughing, for although he had a good figure, and was dressed with propriety in black satin knee breeches, a white waistcoat, striped stockings, and a waisted coat with very long tails, he knew that he would be sartorially outshone by half the male guests. But his little sisters’ wholehearted admiration certainly softened his mood, and after promising faithfully to send a servant up to the schoolroom with ices later on, he went on to the drawing room, and was even able to bring himself to compliment his sister and cousin on their gowns.

Sophy had chosen a dress of her favorite pomona-green crape, which she wore over a slip of white satin. It had tiny puff sleeves of lace and seed pearls and was lavishly trimmed with lace. Particularly fine diamond drops hung from her ears; her pearl necklace was clasped round her throat; and an opera comb was set behind the elaborate knot of hair on the crown of her head. Jane Storridge had brushed and pomaded her side curls until they glowed richly chestnut in the candlelight. Green-striped satin slippers, long gloves, and a fan of frosted crape on ivory sticks completed her toilet.

Lady Ombersley, while approving of this striking ensemble, could not forbear gazing at Cecilia with eyes misty with maternal pride. All the youth and beauty of the Upper Ten Thousand would be present at her ball tonight, she reflected, in a large-minded spirit, but there was not a girl among them who would not be cast into the shade by Cecilia, a dream princess in white spider gauze, glinting a little when she moved, and the light caught the silver acorns embroidered on the delicate material. Cecilia’s curls, with only a silver ribbon threaded through them, were like spun gold; her eyes a clear, translucent blue; her mouth a perfect bow. Beside Sophy she seemed ethereal; her father, surveying her with easy affection, said she made him think of a fairy — Queen Mab, or Titania, was it? He needed Eugenia Wraxton to set him right.

He was to have her. Miss Wraxton, after prolonged consideration, had decided to attend Sophy’s ball, gaining her mama’s consent by assuring her that she should certainly not take part in any dancing. She was the first of the dinner guests to arrive, and was attended by her brother Alfred, who ogled Cecilia and Sophy through his quizzing glass, paying them such extravagant compliments as to bring a faint flush to Cecilia’s cheeks, and a darkling look into Sophy’s eyes. Miss Wraxton, who was attired in discreet lavender crape, had come determined to be pleased, and even complimented the cousins on their appearance. Her remarks, however, were in far better taste, and won a warm look from Charles. At the first opportunity, he engaged her [ attention, going over to put a chair for her, and saying, “I had not dared to hope that you would be present tonight Thank you!”

She smiled, and pressed his hand slightly. “Mama did not quite like it, but she agreed that it would be proper for me to come, in the circumstances. I shall not dance, I need hardly say.”

“I am delighted to hear it; you present me with a capital excuse for following your example!”

She looked gratified, but said: “No, no, you are to do your duty, Charles! I insist upon it!”

“The Marquesa de Villacañas!” announced Dassett.

“Good God!” ejaculated Charles, under his breath. The Marquesa came into the room, magnificent, and decidedly exotic, in gold satin, casually adorned with ruby or emerald brooches, chains, and necklaces. An immensely high Spanish comb was in her hair, with a mantilla draped over it; an aroma of heavy perfume hung about her; and a very long train swept the floor behind her. Lord Ombersley drew a deep breath, and moved forward to greet with real enthusiasm a guest so worthy of his notice.

Mr. Rivenhall forgot that he was not on speaking terms with his abominable cousin, and said in her ear, “How in the world did you rouse her to so much effort?”

She laughed. “Oh, she wished in any event to spend a few days in London, so all I had to do was to engage a suite of rooms for her at the Pulteney Hotel, and to charge Pepita, her maid, most straightly, to send her to us tonight.”

“I am astonished that she could be brought even to contemplate so much exertion!”

“Ah, she knew I would go myself to fetch her if she failed!”

More guests were arriving; Mr. Rivenhall moved away to assist his parents in receiving them; the big double drawing room began to fill up; and at only a few minutes past eight o’clock Dassett was able to announce dinner.

The guests assembled for dinner were of a quality to fill any hostess’s bosom with pride, including as they did, a great many members of the diplomatic set, and two cabinet ministers, with their wives. Lady Ombersley could cram her rooms with as many members of the nobility as she cared to invite, but since her husband took little interest in politics, government circles were rather beyond her reach. But Sophy, barely acquainted with the very well born but equally undistinguished people who made up the larger part of the polite world, had been bred up in government circles, and, from the day when she first did up her hair, and let down her skirts, had been entertaining celebrated persons, and was on the friendliest of terms with them. Her, or perhaps Sir Horace’s, acquaintances preponderated at her aunt’s board, but not even Miss Wraxton, on the watch for signs of presumption in her, could find any fault with her demeanor. It might have been expected, since all the arrangements for the party had been hers, that she would have put herself forward more than was becoming, but so far from doing so she seemed to be in a retiring mood, bearing no part in greeting guests upstairs, and confining her conversation at table, most correctly, to the gentlemen on her either side. Miss Wraxton, who had labeled her a hoyden, was obliged to own that her company manners at least were above reproach.

The ball, which began at ten o’clock, was held in the huge room built for the purpose at the back of the house. It was lit by hundreds of candles in a great crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and since this had been unswathed from its holland covering three days before so that both footmen and the pantry boy could wash and polish its lustres, it sparkled like a collection of mammoth diamonds. Masses of flowers were arranged in set pieces at either end of the room, and an excellent orchestra had been engaged, quite regardless (Mr. Rivenhall bitterly reflected) of expense.

The room, large as it was, soon became so crowded with elegant persons that it seemed certain that the function would receive the final accolade, in being voted a sad crush. No hostess could desire more.

The ball opened with a country dance, in which Mr. Rivenhall, in honor bound, stood up with his cousin. He performed his part with propriety, she hers with grace; and Miss Wraxton, watching from a rout chair at one side of the room, smiled graciously upon them both. Mr. Fawnhope, a most beautiful dancer, had led Cecilia into the same set, a circumstance that considerably annoyed Mr. Rivenhall. He thought that Cecilia should have reserved the opening dance for some more important guest, and he derived no satisfaction from overhearing more than one tribute to the grace and beauty of such an arresting couple. Nowhere did Mr. Fawnhope shine to more advantage than in a ballroom, and happy was the lady who stood up with him. Envious eyes followed Cecilia, and more than one dark beauty wished that, since Mr. Fawnhope, himself so angelically fair, unaccountably preferred gold hair to black, she could change her coloring to suit his fancy.

Lord Bromford, one of the earliest arrivals, failed, owing to Mr. Rivenhall’s sense of duty, to secure Sophy’s hand for the first dance, and as a waltz followed the country dance it was some time before he was able to stand up with her. While waltzing was in progress he stood watching the performers, and in due course, gravitated to Miss Wraxton’s side, and entertained her with an exposition of his views on the waltz. With these she was to some extent in sympathy, but she expressed herself more moderately, saying that while she herself would not care to waltz, the dance could not be altogether frowned on now that it had been sanctioned at Almack’s.

“I did not see it danced at Government House,” said Lord Bromford.

Miss Wraxton, who was fond of reading books of travels, said, “Jamaica! How much I envy you, sir, your sojourn in that interesting island! I am sure it must be one of the most romantic places imaginable.”

Lord Bromford, whose youth had never been charmed by tales of the Spanish Main, replied that it had much to recommend it and went on to describe the properties of its medicinal springs and the great variety of marbles to be found in the mountains, all of which Miss Wraxton listened to with interest, telling Mr. Rivenhall later that she thought his lordship had a well-informed mind.

It was halfway through the evening when Sophy, breathless from an energetic waltz with Mr. Wychbold, was standing at the side of the room, fanning herself, and watching the couples still circling round the floor while her partner went to procure a glass of iced lemonade for her, was suddenly accosted by a pleasant-looking gentleman, who came up to her and said with a frank smile, “My friend, Major Quinton, promised that he would present me to the Grand Sophy, but the wretched fellow goes from one set to the next, and never spares me a thought! How do you do, Miss Stanton-Lacy? You will forgive my informality, won’t you? It is true that I have no business here, for I was not invited, but Charles assures me that had I not been believed to be still laid upon a bed of sickness I must have received a card.” She looked at him in that frank way of hers, summing him up. She liked what she saw. He was a man in the early thirties, not precisely handsome, but with a pleasing countenance redeemed from the commonplace by a pair of humorous gray eyes. He was above the medium height, and had a good pair of shoulders, and an excellent leg for a riding boot.

“It is certainly too bad of Major Quinton,” Sophy said smilingly. “But you know what a rattlepate he is! Ought we to have sent you a card? You must forgive us! I hope your illness was not of a serious nature?”

“Alas, merely painful and humiliating!” he replied. “Would you believe that a man of my age could fall a victim to so childish a complaint, ma’am? Mumps!”

Sophy dropped her fan, exclaiming: “What did you say? Mumps?”

“Mumps,” he repeated, picking up the fan, and giving it back to her. “I do not wonder at your astonishment!”

“Then you,” said Sophy, “are Lord Charlbury.”

He bowed. “I am, and I perceive that my fame has gone before me. I own, I should not have chosen to figure in your mind as the man with mumps, but so, I see, it is!”

“Let us sit down,” said Sophy.

He looked amused, but accompanied her at once to a sofa against the wall. “By all means! But may I not get you a glass of lemonade?”

“Mr. Wychbold — I expect you are acquainted with him — has already gone to do so. I should like to talk to you for a little while, for I have heard a great deal about you, you know.”

“Nothing could please me more, for I have heard a great deal about you, ma’am, and it has inspired me with the liveliest desire to meet you!”

“Major Quinton,” said Sophy, “is a shocking quiz, and I daresay has given you quite a false notion of me!”

“I must point out to you, ma’am,” he retaliated, “that we are both in the same case, for you know me only as a man with mumps, and at the risk of sounding like a coxcomb I must assure you that that must have given you an equally false notion of me!”

“You are perfectly right,” said Sophy seriously. “It did give me false notion of you!” Her eyes followed Cecilia and Mr. Fawnhope round the room; she drew a breath, and said, “Things may be a trifle difficult.”

“That,” said Lord Charlbury, his eyes following hers, had already realized.”

“I cannot conceive,” said Sophy, with strong feeling, “what can have possessed you, sir, to contract mumps at such a moment!”

“It was not done by design,” said his lordship meekly. “Nothing could have been more ill judged!” said Sophy. “Not ill judged!” he pleaded. “Unfortunate!”

Mr. Wychbold came up just then with Sophy’s lemonade. “Hallo, Everard!” he said. “I didn’t know you were fit to be seen yet! How are you, dear boy?”

“Bruised in spirit, Cyprian, bruised in spirit! My sufferings under the complaint that struck me down were as nothing to what I now undergo. Shall I ever live it down?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” replied Mr. Wychbold consolingly. “Dashed paltry thing to happen to one, of course, but the town’s memory ain’t long! Why, do you remember poor Bolton taking a toss into the Serpentine, clean over his horse’s head? No one talked of anything else for almost a week! Poor fellow had to rusticate for a while, but it blew over, y’know!”

“Must it be rustication?” Lord Charlbury asked.

“On no account!” said Sophy decidedly. She waited until Mr. Wychbold’s attention was claimed by a lady in puce satin, and then turned toward her companion, and said forthrightly, “Are you a very good dancer, sir?”

“Not, I fancy, above the average, ma’am. Certainly not to compare with the exquisite young man we are both watching.”

“In that case,” said Sophy, “I would not, if I were you, solicit Cecilia to waltz!”

I have already done so, but your warning is unnecessary; she is engaged for every waltz and also the quadrille. The most I can hope for is to stand up with her in a country dance.”

“Don’t do it!” Sophy advised him. “To be trying to talk to anyone when you should be attending to the figure is always fatal, believe me!”

He turned his head, and gave her back a look as frank as her own. “Miss Stanton-Lacy, you are plainly aware of my circumstances. Will you tell me in what case I stand, and who is the Adonis at present monopolizing Miss Rivenhall?”

“He is Augustus Fawnhope, and he is a poet.”

“That has an ominous ring,” he said lightly. “I know the family, of course, but I think I have not previously encountered this sprig.”

“Very likely you might not, for he was used to be with Sir Charles Stuart, in Brussels. Lord Charlbury, you look to me like a sensible man!”

“I had rather I had a head like a Greek coin,” he remarked ruefully.

“You must understand,” said Sophy, disregarding this frivolity, “that half the young ladies in London are in love with Mr. Fawnhope.”

“I can readily believe it, and I grudge him only one of his conquests.”

She would have replied, but they were interrupted. Lord Ombersley, who had gone away after dinner, now reappeared, accompanied by an elderly and immensely corpulent man in whom no one had the least difficulty in recognizing a member of the Royal Family. He was, in fact, the Duke of York, that one of Farmer George’s sons who most nearly resembled him. He had the same protuberant blue eye, and beaky nose, the same puffy cheeks, and pouting mouth, but he was a much larger man than his father. He appeared to be in imminent danger of bursting out of his tightly stretched pantaloons; he wheezed when he spoke, but he was plainly a genial prince, ready to be pleased, standing on very little ceremony, and chatting affably to anyone who was presented to him. Both Cecilia and Sophy had this honor. His Royal Highness’s appreciation of Cecilia’s beauty was quite as broadly expressed as Mr. Wraxton’s had been, and no one could doubt that had he met her in some less public spot it would not have been many minutes before the ducal arm would have been round her waist. Sophy aroused no such amorous tendency ,in him, but he talked very jovially to her, asked her how her father did, and opined, with a loud laugh, that by this time Sir Horace was enjoying himself among all the Brazilian beauties, the dog that he was! After that, he exchanged greetings with several friends, circulated about the room for a while, and finally withdrew to the library with his host and two other of his intimates for a rubber of whist.

Cecilia, escaping from the Royal presence with burning cheeks (for she hated to be the target of fulsome compliments), was intercepted by Mr. Fawnhope, who said with great simplicity, “You are more beautiful tonight than I had thought possible!”

“Oh, do not!” she exclaimed involuntarily. “How insufferably hot it is in this room!”

“You are flushed, but it becomes you. I will take you onto the balcony.”

She made no demur, though this large term merely de scribed the veriest foothold built outside each one of the twelve long windows of the ballroom and fenced in with low iron railings. Mr. Fawnhope parted the heavy curtains that veiled the window at the far end of the room, and she passed through them into a shallow embrasure. After a slight struggle with the bolt, Mr. Fawnhope succeeded in opening the double window, and she was able to step out on to the narrow ledge. A chill breeze fanned her cheeks; she said, “Ah, what a night! The stars!”

“‘The evening star, love’s harbinger!’ “ quoted Mr. Fawnhope, somewhat vaguely scanning the heavens.

This idyll was rudely interrupted. Mr. Rivenhall, having observed the retreat of the young couple, had followed them, and now stepped through the brocade curtains, saying harshly, “Cecilia, are you lost to all sense of propriety? Come back into the ballroom at once!”

Startled, Cecilia turned quickly. Already agitated by the unexpected encounter with Lord Charlbury, her nerves betrayed her into a hasty rejoinder. “How dare you, Charles?” she said, in a trembling voice. “Pray, what impropriety am I guilty of in seeking the fresh air in the company of my affianced husband?”

She took Mr. Fawnhope’s hand as she spoke and confronted her brother with her chin up and her cheeks very much flushed. Lord Charlbury, who had drawn back the curtain with one hand, stood perfectly still, as pale as she was red, steadfastly regarding her.

“Oh!” cried Cecilia faintly, snatching her hand from Mr. Fawnhope’s to press it to her cheek.

“May I know, Cecilia, if what you have just announced is the truth?” asked his lordship, not a trace of emotion in his well-bred voice.

“Yes!” she uttered.

“The devil it is not!” said Mr. Rivenhall.

“You must permit me to offer you my felicitations,” said Lord Charlbury, bowing. He then let the curtain fall, and walked away the length of the ballroom in the direction of he doors.

Sophy, about to take her place with Major Quinton in the set which was forming, deserted her partner with a word of excuse, and overtook his lordship in the anteroom. “Lord Charlbury!”

He turned. “Miss Stanton-Lacy! Will you tender my apologies to Lady Ombersley for my not taking formal leave of her? She is not at present in the ballroom.”

“Yes, never mind that! What has occurred to make you leave so early?”

“I came, ma’am, with one purpose only in mind. It has been rendered useless for me to stay by your cousin’s announcement a moment since that she is betrothed to young Fawnhope.”

“What a goose she is!” remarked Sophy cheerfully. “I saw her go apart with Augustus, and I saw Charles follow her. Depend upon it, this is all his doing! I could box his ears! Do you ever ride in the Park?”

“Do I what?” he asked, bewildered,

“Ride in the Park!”

“Certainly I do, but — ”

“Then do so tomorrow morning! Not too early, for I daresay I shall not be in bed until four o’clock! At ten, then; don’t fail!”

She waited for no answer but went back into the ballroom, leaving him to stare after her in considerable surprise. At any ‘other time he would have smiled at her odd, abrupt ways, but he was a man in love, laboring under a crushing blow, and although he could maintain his calm manner, it was at present beyond his power to feel any amusement.