The Quiet Gentleman

Chapter 4

The Earl spent the rest of the morning in the muniment room, docilely permitting his cousin to explain the management of his estates to him, and to point out to him the various provisions of his father’s will. Besides the very considerable property which had been left to Martin, personal bequests were few, and included no more than a modest legacy to the nephew whose diligence and business ability had made it possible for him to spend the last years of his life in luxurious indolence.

Theodore Frant was the only offspring of the late Earl’s younger brother, who, in the opinion of his family, had crowned a series of youthful indiscretions by marrying a penniless female of birth considerably inferior to his own. His tastes had been expensive, and a passion for gaming had made him swiftly run through his patrimony. His wife survived the birth of her child only by a few weeks; her place was filled by a succession of ladies, ranging from an opera-dancer to a fruit-woman, according to the fluctuating state of his finances; and the Earl, upon the only occasion when he was constrained to visit his disreputable relative, finding his youthful nephew engaged in bearing a quartern of gin upstairs to the reigning mistress of the establishment, acted upon the impulse of the moment, and bore the sturdy boy off with him, to be reared with his own two sons at Stanyon. His brother, though he had hoped for more tangible relief, raised no objection, reflecting that in moments of acute stress the Earl’s purse must always be untied for him, his lordship having the greatest objection to allowing any scandal to be attached to his name. Happily for the Earl’s peace of mind, an inflammation of the lungs, contracted during a wet week at Newmarket, carried the Honourable John off three years later.

It was not to be expected that the second Lady St. Erth would immediately greet with approbation the inclusion into her home of the son of so unsteady a man; but even she was soon brought to acknowledge that Theo inherited none of his father’s instability. He was a stolid, even-tempered boy, and he grew into a taciturn but dependable young man. The Earl, who sent his own sons to Eton, in the tradition of his family, caused Then to be educated at Winchester. He did not, like his cousins, go to Oxford, but instead, and by his own choice, applied himself to the task of learning the business of his uncle’s agent. So apt a pupil did he prove to be, that when the older man resigned he was able and ready to succeed him. In a very short space of time he was managing the Earl’s estates better than they had been managed for many years, for he was not only capable and energetic, but his subordinates liked him, and he was devoted to the Frant interests. His uncle relinquished more and more of his affairs into his hands, until it became generally understood that Mr. Theo must be applied to for whatever was needed.

Gervase, knowing this, had expected his father to have left him more handsomely provided for. He said as much, looking at his cousin in a little trouble, but Theo only smiled and said: “You may be thankful he did not! I had no expectation of it.”

“He might have left you an estate, I think.”

“Studham, perhaps?”

“Well, I had as lief you had it as Martin,” said Gervase frankly. “I was really thinking of the property he bought towards Crowland, however. What’s the name of the manor? — Evesleigh, is it not? Shall I make it over to you?”

“You shall not! There has been enough cutting-up of the estate already.”

“But, Theo, you cannot spend all your life managing my property!”

“Very likely I shall not. I have a very saving disposition, you know, and you pay me a handsome wage, besides housing me in the first style of elegance, so that I am not put to the expense of maintaining an establishment of my own!”

Gervase laughed, but shook his head. “You cannot like it!”

“I like it very well indeed, thank you. Stanyon has been as much my home as yours, recollect!”

“Much more,” said the Earl.

“Yes, unfortunately, but you will forget the past. Do you mean to allow Martin to continue here?”

“I had not considered the matter. Does he wish to?”

“Well, it will certainly not suit him to remove to Studham!” replied Theo. “I do not know how he is to continue hunting with the Belvoir from Norfolk! He would be obliged to put up at Grantham throughout the winter, and I own it would be uncomfortable. There is, moreover, this to be considered: when Cinderford died, your father permitted our aunt to take up her residence there, and it would be hard, I daresay, to prevail upon her to remove.”

“Impossible, I imagine. He may remain at Stanyon, if only he can be persuaded to treat me with the semblance at least of civility. There appears, at the moment, to be little likelihood, however, of his doing so.”

But when the Earl presently joined the rest of his family in one of the parlours on the entrance floor, where a light luncheon had been set out on the table, he found the Dowager and her son apparently determined to be amiable. That he had been the subject of their conversation was made manifest by the conscious silence which fell upon them at his entrance. The Dowager, recovering first from this, said with the utmost graciousness that she was glad to see him, and invited him to partake of some cold meat, and a peach from his own succession-houses. These, which had been installed at her instigation, were, she told him, amongst the finest in the country, and could be depended on to produce the best grapes, peaches, nectarines, and pines which could anywhere be found.

“The gardens, of course, cannot be said to be at their best thus early in the year,” she observed, “but when you have had time to look about you, I trust you will be pleased with their arrangement. I spared no pains, for I dote upon flowers, and I fancy something not altogether contemptible has been achieved. Indeed, the Duchess of Rutland, a very agreeable woman, has often envied me my show of choice blooms. Martin, pass the mustard to your brother: you must perceive that it is beyond his reach!”

This command having been obeyed, she resumed, in the complacent tone habitual to her: “Unless you should prefer to speak with Calne yourself, St. Erth, which I cannot suppose to be very likely (for gentlemen seldom interest themselves in such matters), I shall request him to devise one or two elegant bowls for the State saloons. It is not to be supposed that people will care to be backward in paying their morning-calls, now that it is known that you are in residence; and very few families, you know, have as yet removed to the Metropolis. We must not be found unprepared, and, I do not by any means despair of Calne’s achieving something creditable.”

“Am I to understand, ma’am, that I must expect to receive visits from all my neighbours?” asked Gervase, in some dismay.

“Certainly!” said the Dowager, ignoring a muffled crack of laughter from her son. “It would be very odd in them not to render you the observances of civility. It will be proper for you to hold a few dinner-parties, and now that I have put off black gloves I shall not object to performing my duties as hostess. Stanyon has ever held a reputation for hospitality, and I fancy that my little parties have not been, in the past, wholly despised. I am sure nothing is further from my thoughts than a disposition to meddle, but I would advise you, my dear St. Erth, to allow yourself to be guided in these matters by me. You cannot be expected to know who should be honoured by an invitation to dine with you, and who may be safely fobbed off with a rout-party, or even a Public Day.”

“A Public Day!” repeated Gervase. “You terrify me, ma’am! What must I do upon such an occasion?”

“Oh, you have merely to move about amongst the company — your tenants, you know! — saying something amiable to everyone!” said Martin. “The most tedious affair! I have always contrived to be a couple of miles distant!”

“What admirable good sense! Pray, into which class may Miss Morville, and her peculiar parents, fall, ma’am?”

“That,” responded the Dowager, “is a question that has frequently exercised my mind. There can be no denying that the Morvilles — they are able, you know, to trace their lineage back to the time of the Norman Conquest — must be thought to rank amongst those of the best blood in the country; but there can be no denying that the opinions held by Mr. Hervey Morville — and, I feel compelled to say, by his lady, though she too is of excellent birth, so that one is quite in a puzzle to determine what circumstances can have prevailed upon her to turn to the pen — that these opinions, as I have observed, must cause the most liberally-minded person to hesitate before including him in any select invitation. A shocking thing for his family, you know! He was actually acquainted with Home Tooke! However, the late Earl was used to say that he had a well-informed mind, and we have been used to invite him, and his lady, to dine with us from time to time. His daughter is quite a favourite with me; a delightful girl!”

At this point, the eyes of the half-brothers met. The Earl was able to command his features, but Martin choked over a mouthful of cold beef. The Dowager said indulgently: “I do not assert that she is beautiful, but she is a very pretty-behaved young female, and one that will do very well for poor Theo. I have a great regard for Theo, and I should be happy to see him comfortably established.”

“Where,” asked Gervase, with only the slightest tremor in his voice, “is Miss Morville now? She does not care for a nuncheon?”

“The dear child has walked through the Park to Gilbourne House,” answered the Dowager. “A letter from her Mama desired her to forward some small matters to Gretta Hall, for she and Mr. Morville, you must know, are spending a few days as the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Southey — the Laureate, I need scarcely remind you. I believe he and Mr. Morville were once intimate, but Mr. Southey, one is thankful to say, has long since abandoned those Revolutionary tendencies which must, previously, have rendered him quite ineligible for the distinguished position which he now adorns. The Curse of Kebama! His Life of Nelson! I am no great reader myself, but I am sure I must have heard the late lord speak favourably of these works I daresay a dozen times!”

“We must certainly invite him to dinner,” murmured Gervase.

“I believe it will be proper for us to do so,” acknowledged the Dowager. “His brother, Sir James Morville, is a distinguished man; and they are related, one must remember, to the Minchinhamptons. We must wait, however, to see whether a suitable party may be arranged, though, to be sure, I have no doubt that we might, if we chose, arrange a dozen such! I should not think it marvellous if we were to receive as many as fifty visits from our neighbours this sennight.”

“I sincerely trust you may be wrong, ma’am!” said Gervase.

The next few days, however, showed that the Dowager had not misjudged the civility, or the curiosity, of the neighbouring gentry. Chaises, barouches, curricles, and even, when old Lady Wintringham decided that it behoved her to leave cards upon the new Earl, an antiquated coach bowled up the avenue to the imposing front-doors of Stanyon, and set down passengers dressed in all the finery of silk and velvet, or the natty elegance of yellow pantaloons and best Bath suiting. The Earl found most of his visitors as tedious as they were well-disposed; and, after enduring three consecutive days of almost continuous civilities, the sight of a carriage drawing up under his window was enough to send him stealthily down one of the secondary staircases to a vestibule whence it was possible for him to escape from the Castle, into the Fountain Court. From here it was an easy matter for him to reach the stables without being intercepted by an over-zealous servant; and while the Dowager entertained the morning-guests with one of her powerful monologues, her undutiful stepson was enjoying a gallop on the back of his gray horse, Cloud, having speedily put several miles between himself and the Castle.

He had already, once or twice, ridden out with his cousin, and the bailiff, but his way led him on this occasion in a direction hitherto unvisited by him. It was a fine day towards the close of March, the ground rather heavy from recent rains, but fast drying under a strong wind, blowing from the east. The hedgerows were bursting into new leaf, and the banks were starred with primroses. The Earl, having, as he would have said, galloped the fidgets out of Cloud, was hacking gently down a narrow lane when he came, round a bend, upon an unexpected sight. A lady was seated on the bank, engaged in gathering primroses from a clump within her reach. This in itself, however imprudent in such damp and blustery weather, would not have attracted more than the Earl’s fleeting attention had he not perceived that the lady was attired in a riding-habit. Here, plainly, was an equestrienne in distress. He brought Cloud trotting up and caused him to halt alongside her.

The lady had lifted her head at the first sound of Cloud’s hooves, and Gervase, raising his beaver, found himself looking down into a charming, wilful countenance, framed by the sweep of a hat-brim, and a cascade of pale, wind-tossed ringlets. A pair of large blue eyes, lighter and merrier than his own, met his with a rueful twinkle; a roguish dimple hovered at the corner of a kissable mouth striving unavailingly to preserve its gravity.

“I beg your pardon!” Gervase said, his gaze riveted on the fair face upturned to his. “Can I be of assistance, ma’am? Some accident, I apprehend! Your horse — ?”

He dismounted, as he spoke, and pulled the bridle over Cloud’s head. The fair Diana broke into a ripple of laughter. “Depend upon it, the horrid creature is by now standing snugly in her stall! Was ever anything so vexatious? Papa will so roast me for parting company at such a paltry fence! Only the mare pecked, you know, and over her head I went, and perhaps I was foolish, or perhaps I was stunned — shall I declare that I was stunned? — and I released the bridle. You would have thought, after all the carrots and the sugar I have bestowed on her, that Fairy would have come to me when I coaxed her! But no! Off she set, thinking of nothing but her comfortable stable, I daresay!”

“Ungrateful indeed!” Gervase said, laughing. “But you must not sit upon that bank, ma’am, perhaps catching your death of cold! Is your home far distant?”

“No, oh, no! But to be walking through the village in my muddied habit, advertising my folly to the countryside — ! You will allow it to be unthinkable, my lord!”

“You know me, then, ma’am? But we have not previously met, I think — I am sure! I could not have forgotten!”

“Oh, no! But a stranger in this desert: one dressed, moreover, in the first style of elegance! I could be in no doubt. You are — you must be — Lord St. Erth!”

“I am St. Erth. And you, ma’am? How comes it about that this is our first encounter?”

She replied, with the most enchanting primming of her face, wholly belied by the mischievous look in her eyes: “Why, you must understand that one would not wish to appear pushing,by too early a visit, nor uncivil,by too late a one! Mama has formed the intention that Papa shall pay a morning-call at Stanyon next week!”

He was very much amused, and said: “I could not receive that morning-call too early, I assure you! It will be quite unnecessary, however, for Papa to be put to the trouble of a formal visit, for I shall forestall him. If I were to lift you on to Cloud’s back, ma’am, will you permit me to lead him to your home?”

She jumped down from the bank, catching up the skirt of her voluminous habit, and casting it over her arm. “Oh, yes! Will you do that? I shall be so very much obliged to you!”

On her feet, she was seen to be a slim creature, not above the average height, but exquisitely proportioned. Her movements, though impetuous, were graceful, and the Earl was permitted a glimpse of a neatly-turned ankle. She tucked her primroses into the buttonhole of her coat, where, mingling with her curls, they seemed almost exactly to blend with them. The Earl lifted her on to the saddle; she contrived to arrange one leg over the pommel, and declared herself to be perfectly safely established.

“Now, where am I to take you?” asked Gervase, smiling up at her.

“To Whissenhurst Grange, if you please! It is only a mile from where we stand, so you will not be obliged to trudge so very far!”

“I should be glad if it were twice as far. But did you mean to sit upon that bank for ever, ma’am?”

“Oh, they would have found me in a little while!” she said airily. “When Fairy reached the stables, you know, they would be thrown into such a pucker! I daresay everyone may already be searching the countryside for me.”

She spoke with all the unconcern of a spoiled child; and it was easy for him to guess that she must be the pet of her father’s establishment. With some shrewdness he asked her if her parents were aware of her riding out without a groom, and glanced quizzically up in time to see her pouting prettily.

“Oh, well, there can be no objection, after all, in the country! In town, of course, I could not do so. If only I had not jumped that wretched little hedge! Nothing was ever so mortifying! Indeed, I am not in the habit of tumbling off my horse, Lord St. Erth!”

“Why, the best of riders must take a toss or two!” he reassured her. “It was used to be said of the Master of the Quorn, when I was living at Stanyon previously, that he would have as many as fifty falls in a season!”

“Ah, you are talking of Mr. Assheton Smith, I collect! His name, you must know, is for ever on the tongues of the Melton men! You must have heard your brother deplore his leaving Quorndon Hall, I daresay! This has been his last season with the Quorn: he is coming into Lincolnshire, to hunt the Burton, and that will put him many miles beyond poor Martin’s reach!”

“I have indeed heard of it from Martin,” said Gervase, with a droll look. “Not all his calculations and his measurements will bring Reepham closer to Stanyon than fifty miles. He sees nothing for it but to put up at Market Rasen, if he should wish for a day with the Burton.”

“Martin is one of Mr. Smith’s upholders. A great many of the sporting gentlemen, however, complain that he draws his coverts too quickly, and will not lift as often as he should in Leicestershire.”

“You hunt yourself, ma’am?”

She threw him one of her roguish looks. “Yes, when hounds meet in the vicinity, and I will faithfully promise to do just as Papa bids me!”

“I hope you keep your promises!”

“Yes, yes, in general I am very good!”

“You will think me abominably stupid, I fear, but I think I can never have met your Papa, and thus do not know what I shall call him when we meet.”

“Papa is Sir Thomas Bolderwood,” she replied at once. “Very likely you might not have encountered him, for we came to live at Whissenhurst only a few years ago, and you have all the time been abroad.”

“I must be grateful to whatever lucky chance it was that brought Sir Thomas into Lincolnshire,” said Gervase.

She received this with a laugh, and a little shake of her head. She was young enough to feel embarrassment at broad compliments, but she betrayed none: plainly, she was accustomed to being very much admired, although the coming London Season, as she presently confided to the Earl, was to be her first. “For one does not count private parties, and although I was almost seventeen last spring, Mama could not be prevailed upon to present me, though even my Aunt Caroline, who is so strict and stuffy, counselled her most strongly to do so. However, this year I am to be presented, and I shall go to Almack’s, and the Opera, and everywhere!”

The Earl, concluding from this artless prattle that Miss Bolderwood moved in unexceptionable circles, began to wonder why no mention of her family had been made to him by his stepmother. In all her consequential enumerations of the persons likely to leave their cards at Stanyon he could not recall ever to have heard her utter the name of Bolderwood. But as he led Cloud into the village through which they were obliged to pass on their way to Whissenhurst Grange, an inkling of the cause of this omission was conveyed to him by an unexpected encounter with his half-brother.

Martin, who was hacking towards them in the company of a young gentleman who sported a striped waistcoat, and a Belcher tie, no sooner perceived who was the fair burden upon Cloud’s back than he spurred up, an expression on his brow both of astonishment and anger. “Marianne!” he exclaimed. “What’s this? How comes this about? What in thunder are you doing on St. Erth’s horse?”

“Why, that odious Fairy of mine, having thrown me into the mire, would not allow me to catch her!” responded Marianne merrily. “Had it not been for Lord St. Erth’s chivalry I must still be seated miserably by the wayside, or perhaps plodding along this very dirty road!”

“I wish I had been there!” Martin said.

“I wish I had been there!” gallantly echoed his companion.

“I am very glad you were not, for to be seen tumbling off my horse could not at all add to my consequence! Oh, Lord St. Erth, are you acquainted with Mr. Warboys?”

Martin, interrupting the exchange of civilities between his friend and his brother, said: “You might have been killed! I do not know what Lady Bolderwood will say! You must let me escort you home!” He seemed to become aware of the fatuity of this utterance, and added awkwardly, and with a rising colour: “You will wish to be going on your way, St. Erth!”

“I am going on my way,” replied the Earl, who was looking amused. “I must tell you, Martin, that I find you very much de trop!”

“By Jove, yes!” agreed Mr. Warboys, with even more gallant intention. “Anyone would! Would myself!” He encountered a fiery glance from Martin, which flustered him, and added hastily: “That is to say — what I meant was, that’s a devilish good-looking hunter you have there, St. Erth! Great rump and hocks! Splendid shoulders! Not an inch above fifteen-three, I’ll swear! The very thing for this country!”

“Oh, he is the loveliest creature!” Marianne said, patting Cloud’s neck. “He makes no objection to carrying me in this absurd fashion: I am sure he must be the best-mannered horse in the world!”

“My Troubadour would carry you as well!” Martin muttered.

Mr. Warboys was moved to contradict this statement. “No, he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t carry her as well as my Old Soldier! Got a tricky temper, that tit of yours.”

“He is better-paced than that screw of yours!”retorted Martin, firing up in defence of his horse.

“Old Soldier,” said Mr. Warboys obstinately, “would give her a comfortable ride.”

“You must be besotted to think so!”

“No, I ain’t. Old Soldier has often carried m’sister. Your Troubadour has never had a female on his back.”

“That can soon be mended!”

“I wonder,” said the Earl diffidently, “if you would think it rude in us to be proceeding on our way while you thrash the matter out between you? Miss Bolderwood will be in danger of contracting a chill, I fear.”

Martin cast him a smouldering look, but Mr. Warboys at once responded: “By Jupiter, so she will! Nasty wind blowing! No sense in standing about — silly thing to do!”

“I’ll accompany you!” Martin said, wheeling his horse about.

“Yes, pray do!” said Marianne, thoroughly enjoying this rivalry for her favours. “Papa and Mama will be so glad to see you! And you too, Mr. Warboys!”

“If I and not St. Erth had found you,” said Martin, “we would soon have seen whether Troubadour would have carried you or not!”

“Well, since the matter appears to trouble you, why should you not at once put it to the test?” suggested Gervase. “You will not object to changing horses, Miss Bolderwood? I very much fear that nothing less will satisfy poor Martin.”

Martin looked to be at once surprised and scornful. He had no great opinion of his brother’s mettle, but he had not expected him to relinquish his advantage so very tamely. He smiled triumphantly, and dismounted, but not in time to forestall Gervase in lifting Marianne down from Cloud’s back. She was installed on Troubadour’s saddle; the Earl swung himself on to Cloud again; and Martin, preparing to lead his horse along the street, realized too late that between the horseman and the pedestrian the advantage lay with the former. The Earl, riding easily beside the lady, was able to engage her in conversation, while his brother, plodding along at Troubadour’s head, was obliged, whenever he wished to claim her attention, to turn his head to look up at her, and to repeat his remark several times. The playful nature of her exchanges with Gervase considerably exacerbated his temper; nor was he mollified to observe that the Earl’s gallantry seemed to be very much to Marianne’s taste. After one or two unsuccessful attempts to draw her into conversation with himself, he relapsed into sulky silence; and was very nearly provoked, at journey’s end, into giving his friend, Mr. Warboys, a leveller. Mr. Warboys, a mournful witness of his discomfiture, was ill-advised enough to say to him, as Marianne led the Earl up the steps to the door of Whissenhurst Grange: “Rolled-up, dear boy! Very shabby stratagem! Fellow must have been on the Staff, I should think!”

Marianne’s safe arrival was greeted by her mother, her father, the butler, the housekeeper, and her old nurse with the most profound thanksgiving. The news of Fairy’s riderless return to the stables had only just been brought up to the house, so that there was time yet to send one of the footmen running to stop the grooms and the stableboys setting forth to scour the countryside in search of her. Sir Thomas, who had been shouting for his horse, pulling on his boots, and issuing instructions, all in one breath, was only induced to cease shaking and hugging his daughter by the necessity of thanking her preserver. His wife, though very much more restrained in her expressions, was equally obliged to the Earl; and it was hard to imagine how either of them could have been more grateful to him had he rescued Marianne from some deadly peril. As for Marianne, she laughed, and coaxed, and begged pardon, and was very soon forgiven her imprudence. Her Mama bore her upstairs to put off her muddied habit; Sir Thomas shouted for refreshment to be brought to the saloon, whither he led the Earl; and Martin, fairly gnashing his teeth, said stiffly that he would take his leave, now that he had seen Marianne restored to her parents.

“Yes, yes, there is no occasion for you to kick your heels, my boy!” said Sir Thomas genially. “To be sure, we are always glad to see you at Whissenhurst, and you too, Barny, but you will be wanting to go about your business now! This way, my lord! To think I had been meaning to wait on you next week, and here you are, making it quite unnecessary for me to do so! I am glad of it: I am no hand at doing the punctilio, you know!”

Thus dismissed, Martin bowed grandly, and left the house, closely followed by Mr. Warboys, who said helpfully, as they mounted their hacks: “No sense in getting into a miff, dear boy! Come about again presently, I daresay! Very unlucky chance your brother should have been riding in this direction, but not a bit of good staying there to outface him! Corkbrained thing to do! The devil of it is he’s a dashed handsome fellow. Good address too, besides the title.”

“If he thinks I will permit him to trifle with Marianne — !” said Martin, between his teeth.

“No reason to think he means to do so,” said Mr. Warboys soothingly. “Seemed very taken with her!”

Martin turned his head sharply to look at him, .so menacing an expression in his dark eyes that he was thrown into disorder. “What do you mean?”

“Well, now you come to ask me,” said Mr. Warboys, with the air of one making a discovery, “I don’t know what I mean! Spoke without thinking! Often do! Runs in the family: uncle of mine was just the same. Found himself married to a female with a squint all through speaking without thinking.”

“Oh, to hell with your uncle!” Martin said angrily.

“No use saying that, dear boy. The old gentleman took a pious turn years back. Won’t go to hell — not a chance of it! Aunt might — never met such a queer-tempered woman in my life!”

“Will you stop boring on and on about your relatives?” said Martin savagely.

“Don’t mind doing that: no pleasure to me to talk about them! But if you think you’re going to have a turn-up with me, old fellow, you’re devilish mistaken!”

“Saphead! Why should I?”

“There ain’t any reason, but whenever you take one of your pets,” said Mr. Warboys frankly, “it don’t seem to signify to you whose cork you draw! All I say is, it ain’t going to be mine!”

Meanwhile, Sir Thomas, having ushered the Earl into one of his saloons and furnished him with a comfortable chair, and a glass of Madeira, had arrived at a more precise understanding of the service which had been rendered to his daughter. He chuckled a good deal over it, rubbing his hands together, and ejaculating: “Cow-handed little puss! I shall roast her finely for this, I can tell you! All’s well that ends well — though I’ll wager her Mama will have something to say to her giving her groom the slip! But there! she is our only chick, my lord, and we don’t care to be too strict, and that’s the truth! Yes, the Almighty never saw fit to give us another, and though I shan’t deny we did wish for a son — for there will be no one to inherit the baronetcy when I’m gone, you know — it was not to be, and, damme, we wouldn’t exchange our naughty puss for all the sons in creation!”

Gervase said what was proper, and sipped his wine, watching Sir Thomas, as he bustled about, casting another log on to the fire, altering the position of a screen to exclude a possible draught, tugging at the bell-rope to summon a servant to bring in the ratafia-wine for Miss Marianne. He was a stout little man, with a shrewd pair of eyes set in a round face whose original ruddy complexion had been much impaired by a tropical climate. He was dressed without much pretension to fashion in a blue coat and buckskin breeches, but he wore a large ruby-pin in his neckcloth, and another set in a ring upon his finger, so that he was clearly a person of affluence, if not of taste. The Earl was at a loss to decide from what order of society he had sprung, for although the cast of his countenance was aristocratic, with its aquiline nose, and finely-moulded lips, and his voice that of a well-bred man, his manners lacked polish, and he had a rough, colloquial way of expressing himself. His wife, on the other hand, had the appearance and the manners of a gentlewoman, and the style in which his house had been furnished was as elegant as it was expensive. That he had at some period during his lifetime visited the East was indicated by various specimens of oriental art which were scattered about the room. He saw the Earl glancing at the ornaments on the mantelshelf, and said: “Ay, you are looking at my ivories, my lord. I bought them for the most part in Calcutta, and a pretty sum they cost me, I can tell you! You won’t find any finer, for although I don’t know much about art, I won’t buy trumpery, and I’m a hard man to cheat.”

“You have resided in India, sir?”

“Spent the better part of my life there,” replied Sir Thomas briskly. “If you hear anyone speak of the Nabob, that’s me, or, at any rate, it’s what they call me here at home, and I won’t deny it’s true enough, though I could name you a good few men who made bigger fortunes in India than ever I did. Still, I’m reckoned to be a warm man, as they say. Queer world, ain’t it? I often wonder what my poor father would think if he had lived to see the Prodigal Son come home only just in time to save the family from landing in the basket! Ay, I was a wild young fellow, I can tell you, and caused my father a deal of trouble, God forgive me! The end of it was I was shipped off to India, and I daresay they all hoped I should be heard of no more. I don’t say I blame them, but it was a desperate thing to do, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t serve a son of mine so, but it all turned out for the best; and when I came home, with a snug fortune, and my girl just six years old, and as pretty as a picture, the tables were turned indeed! For what should I find but that brother of mine that was always used to have been as prim and as tonnish as the starchiest nob of them all regularly under the hatches! The silly fellow had been speculating, and he hadn’t the least head for it. A bubble-merchant, that’s what I called him! I found him as near to swallowing a spider as makes no matter, and what he found to squander his money on, with never a chick nor a child to call his own, is more than I can tell you. I daresay it was my lady who spent it, for it was always my lady who must have this, and my lady who was used to have that, till I told him to his head his lady might go hang for all of me! For ever prating about her grand family, she was, but she came to the wrong shop, for I married a girl who was better-born than she, and never any fine-lady nonsense about her, bless her! Well, the long and the short of it was that poor George was never so glad to see anyone in his life as he was to see me, for he actually had an execution in the house! And the worst set of Jeremy Didders hanging round him — well, well, I soon sent them packing, you may be sure! The joke of it was that George wasn’t pleased above half, because he had been always in the way of thinking himself much above my touch! Ah, well, he’s dead now, poor fellow, and I should not be laughing at him! Ay, he died a matter of six years ago, leaving no one but me to succeed him. He felt it, and so, I warrant you, does Caroline, though between you and me that don’t by any means stop her expecting me to drop my blunt into her purse every now and then!” He laughed heartily at this reflection, and his guest, considerably taken aback by these revelations, and scarcely knowing what to say in reply to them, was thankful when the door opened just then to admit the two ladies.

Marianne, who had changed her habit for a dress of sprigged muslin, tied with blue ribbons, was looking lovelier than ever; and the Earl found that he had not been mistaken in his first reading of Lady Bolderwood’s character. A fair, slender woman of considerable beauty, she was affable without being effusive. Without assuming any airs of consequence, or seeming to deprecate her husband’s free manners, she had a quiet dignity of her own, and talked very much like a sensible woman. While Sir Thomas boisterously rallied his daughter on her lack of horsemanship, she sat down beside the Earl, and conversed amiably with him. He decided that he liked both her and Sir Thomas. He was made to feel at home, and although both, in their several degrees, were grateful to him for the service he had rendered Marianne, neither showed the least disposition to toad-eat him. As for Marianne, he could not suppose that a lovelier or a sunnier-tempered girl existed. She bore all her father’s roasting with laughter, and coaxing pleas to be forgiven for having caused him anxiety; and when she saw that he had finished his wine, she jumped up to set down his glass for him.

“I hope that now we have been so unceremoniously introduced, you will visit us again, Lord St. Erth. We do not pretend to entertain in any formal style while we are in the country, for Marianne cannot be considered to be out, you know, until we remove to London next month; but if you don’t disdain a game of lottery-tickets, or to stand up to dance in a room with only perhaps half a dozen couples, I shall be very happy to welcome you whenever you should care to come.”

“That’s right!” said Sir Thomas, overhearing. “No state or flummery! We reserve all that for Grosvenor Square. If I had my way — but, there! this little puss of mine is determined to drag me to all manner of routs and soirees and balls, aren’t you, my pretty?”

She was seated on the arm of his chair, and at once bent to lay her cheek against his, and to say caressingly: “Dear Papa! Now, confess! You would not forgo any of it for the world!”

“Ay, I know you! You are a rogue, miss, and think you may twist me round your finger! Come and eat your mutton at Whissenhurst when you feel so inclined, my lord! You know your way, and if you did not, young Martin would show it to you fast enough. No offense, but I’ve a pretty good notion of the way things are at Stanyon, and although I’m sure her ladyship is a very good sort of a woman, I’ll go bail you are yawning till your jaws crack six days out of the seven!”

The Earl laughed, thanked him, and rose to take his leave. As he shook hands with Marianne, she smiled up at him in her innocent way, and said: “Do come again! We sometimes have the merriest parties — everyone comes to them!”

“I shall most certainly come,” Gervase said. “And you, I hope — ” his glance embraced them all — “will honour Stanyon with a visit. My stepmother is planning one or two entertainments: I believe you must shortly be receiving cards from her.”

“Oh, famous!” Marianne cried, clapping her hands. “Will you give a ball at Stanyon? Do say you will! It is the very place for one!”

“Miss Bolderwood has only to give her commands! A ball it shall be!”

“My love, it is time and more that you ceased to be such a sad romp!” said Lady Bolderwood, with a reproving look. “Pray do not heed her, Lord St. Erth!”

She gave him her hand, charged him to deliver her compliments to the Dowager, and Sir Thomas escorted him to the front-door, and stayed chatting to him on the steps, while his horse was brought round from the stables.

“There is no need for you to be giving a ball unless you choose,” he said bluntly. “Puss will have enough of them in another month, and I daresay her Mama don’t care for her to appear at any bang-up affair until after our own ball in Grosvenor Square. We’ll send you a card. But come and visit us in a friendly way when you choose! I like to see young people round me, enjoying themselves, and I remember my old Indian ways enough still to be glad to keep open house.” He chuckled. “No fear of our being dull in the country! If there’s any young spark for twenty-five miles round us whom you won’t find at Whissenhurst, one day or another, I wish I may meet him! But what I say to Mama is, there’s safety in numbers, and I can tell you this, my lord, we ain’t anxious to see our girl married too young! Sometimes I wonder what will become of us, when she sets up her own establishment! There were plenty of people to advise us to bring her out last Season, but, No, we said: there’s time and to spare! Hallo! is this your horse! Now, horseflesh is something I flatter myself I do understand! Ay, grand hocks! forelegs well before him! You’ll hear men praising cocktails, but what I say is, the best is always the best, and give me a thoroughbred every time!”