Mrs Parker's Hopes

11

Mrs Parker’s Hopes

    “Now you will see, Aunt Venetia!” hissed Dimity ecstatically, as the stout form of Mr Tobias Vane was seen to be making its way slowly to Alfreda’s side through the throng at Mrs Brinsley-Pugh’s rout party.

    Mrs Parker endeavoured to frown reprovingly at Dimity whilst still looking encouragingly at Alfreda. The frown lost out: to say truth, Mrs Parker had been very pleased indeed to find Dimity so improved by her sojourn in London. Even Henry had pointed out to her that Dimity had taken to springing loyally to Alfreda’s defence when Fliss criticized her—and not only that, Fliss had even been known to take Alfreda’s part against the world! Mrs Parker had had to smile, but she had not been at all displeased; nor had she been displeased to learn from Alfreda that Dimity had truly been behaving herself in London and had not been deceived by Lady Tarlington’s position and style into believing that these things were either desirable or worthy of emulation. It was true that Dimity had not as yet attracted any particularly eligible suitor, but then, there was plenty of time for that.

    Mr Tobias Vane came up slowly, bowing very low, and professed himself delighted at the introduction to Miss Parker’s mother. He sat down beside the ladies and favoured them with a disquisition on the merits of a good potage d’orge when thickened with cream and eggs.

    “You see?” choked Dimity, when he regretfully moved off to speak to other acquaintances. Promising—or perhaps threatening—in a ponderously playful manner, that he would most definitely call on the morrow.

    “Why potage d’orqe?” asked Mrs Parker limply.

    “I think,” said Alfreda, biting her lip, rather, “that he speaks of whatever—er—whatever dish is on his mind at the moment in question, Mamma.”

    “But he appears not to have had it for his dinner, even!”

    “Not today, at all events: no!” squeaked Dimity.

    “No,” said Alfreda, swallowing. “He—he is like that, Mamma.”

    After a moment Mrs Parker said determinedly: “Well, never mind. I suppose every man has his interests.”—Dimity choked.—“And I am sure he is a most worthy gentleman. I feel it is a pity that you did not carry his flowers, my love.”

    “Mamma,” said Alfreda, blushing, “they would not have gone with this gown.”

    “Aunt Venetia, you cannot mean it! Why, he is encouraged enough without that! He is forever calling, and prosing on about food or tea, and if she carries his flowers, he will believe that Alfreda actually likes him!”

    Mrs Parker brushed airily at a non-existent piece of fluff on her skirt. “And why should Alfreda not like him, pray? He is a very estimable man, I am sure.”

    “Aunt Venetia, he is one of the quizzes of London!” cried Dimity protestingly.

    “Hush, my dear, do not cry out like that in a large social gathering such as this. And I do not like to see you dismiss a worthy man like Mr Vane in such a thoughtless manner.”

    Dimity flushed up, and scowled.

    “Mamma, you cannot be serious,” said Alfreda in a low voice.

    “Certainly I am serious, Alfreda, but this is not the time or the place to discuss it.”

    Alfreda shrank into her chair and was silent.

    ... “She cannot mean it!” hissed Henry in horror as her cousin made her report some little time later.

    “Not Mr Tobias Vane!” gasped Fliss, in equal horror. “Alfreda is so pretty and lovely, and— Ugh!” She shuddered feelingly.

    Not unnaturally, Alfreda’s young relatives looked upon her with great approval.

    “I think my aunt has—has run mad after the idea of marrying her off,” said Dimity sadly.

    Henry swallowed. “Something very like that: yes.”

    Fliss looked hopefully round the crowded salon. “But surely—! Well, when she sees that there are much—um—much more attractive gentlemen who admire Alfreda, then she will not consider him?”

    “He is quite rich,” said Henry glumly.

    “Well, yes. Mamma did say that although he is so quizzy he is not a poor man, which is why one sees him everywhere,” admitted Fliss. “And the Vanes, of course, are not nobody.”

    “But he cannot compare to Mr Bobby Amory or Mr Rowbotham!” urged Dimity.

    “Not in looks, no,” said Henry glumly.

    “Or Mr Lilywhite?” said Fliss in a strange voice.

    The other two followed her gaze. They gulped.

    On the far side of the room Miss Parker was still sitting with her mamma: they had been joined by the kindly Lady Sefton. Young Mr Lilywhite came up and bowed very low. The girls watched in agonized suspense…

    “Mamma has put on her gracious face,” said Henry in doomed tones.

    “Help, she’s asking him to sit down!” gasped Dimity.

    “Well, it is all over: you may expect to have Mr Lilywhite for a brother-in-law by the end of the Season, Henry,” said Fliss, as Mr Lilywhite, beaming and very peony-like as to the cheeks and ears, accepted a seat by Mrs Parker.

    “Lady Sefton is getting out of it: she is not so stupid, after all,” noted Henry.

    They watched. Mrs Parker smiled, indeed positively beamed, and talked very much. Alfreda smiled palely and spoke but little. Mr Lilywhite, still very peony of hue, appeared to gulp a lot. Possibly he also uttered monosyllables, though Henry for one would not have taken a bet he went that far.

    “Oof!” said Dimity when it was all over and Mrs Parker dismissed the young man kindly.

    “Alfreda does look glorious in that sapphire gauze,” conceded Fliss on a regretful note.

    “Well, yes: worthier, one would have thought, of something better than this dreadful rout party. Not to say, than the attentions of a Mr Tobias Vane and a junior Lilywhite,” noted Henry.

    Fliss sighed. “It is the lack of fortune, Henry, I fear.”

    As this was not said at all maliciously, but on the contrary, with a great deal of sympathy, Alfreda’s relations looked at her with approval once more.

    “There is Aden going up to them,” Fliss then noted.

    “I don’t think I can bear to watch!” admitted Dimity.

    “No. Mamma’s hopes in that direction are so... obvious,” agreed Henry, shuddering.

    Nevertheless they all watched. Mrs Parker smiled very much and greeted Mr Tarlington with what even with the width of Mrs Brinsley-Pugh’s large salon between them the girls perceived to be fulsome warmth. Mr Tarlington appeared unaffected but greeted Alfreda with apparent pleasure.

    “Tactical error,” muttered Henry, wincing and shutting her eyes for a second.

    “Oh, help, yes! She is making Alfreda move up so that he may sit between them!” gasped Dimity.

    Henry opened her eyes in horror. They watched, transfixed. Mrs Parker smiled and talked vivaciously. Mr Tarlington appeared not to respond much. Alfreda said nothing. Mrs Parker leaned over Mr Tarlington and spoke enthusiastically to her daughter. Alfreda smiled weakly and murmured something. Mrs Parker then spoke at length, very brightly, smiling and nodding at Mr Tarlington.

    “I cannot stand it,” decided Henry.

    “No, wait!” gasped Fliss. “Help! She’s making Aden take her off to—to— Well, I know not what, but look!”

    Mr Tarlington had risen and with what even from across the width of Mrs Brinsley-Pugh’s salon was clearly an ironically low, sweeping bow, now offered Miss Parker his arm. The look of mixed relief and apology on Alfreda’s face as he led her off was apparent even across the width of Mrs Brinsley-Pugh’s salon.

    “Look out!” hissed Dimity frantically as it then became clear what Mrs Parker’s fell intent was.

    “Well, my dears! So there you are! Now, this will not do,” she said, with a flickering glance at where Lady Tarlington, having deserted the young ladies on whom she had declared she would keep her eye, was laughing and talking with her own cronies. “You must come and meet some people! Dear Lady Sefton was talking to me but a moment ago: what a very agreeable woman she is, to be sure! Now, where—” The girls’ shrinking forms were hailed off in order for Lady Sefton, who was certainly not so stupid that she did not know her clear duty at rout parties when faced with a determined mamma and three young ladies, to effect suitable introductions.

    ... “I would rather have been boiled in oil!” decided Henry, throwing herself flat on her bed very much later that evening. “That must rank as the worst night of my life!

    Somehow over the past weeks Fliss had joined Dimity in the habit of popping into her cousin’s room to discuss the events of the evening before bed. She collapsed onto the edge of the bed. “My feet! And all for what?”

    “Messrs Lilywhite Minor and Minimus,” replied Henry immediately.

    Fliss groaned. “I had not thought there could be anything younger and pinker than Mr Lilywhite!”

    “No. But Mr Felix Lilywhite is it,” sighed Henry.

    “I do not think he even shaves yet!” said Dimity.

    “Not judging by the fluff upon his lip: no,” sighed Fliss.

    Dimity sat down heavily at the other side of Henry’s legs. “And Mr Bobby Amory was not even there.”

    “You would not have had the chance to do anything but look at him, if he had been,” noted Fliss swiftly.

    “That would have been better than looking at the fluff upon Mr Lilywhite Minimus’s lip!”

    All three girls collapsed in giggles; but on recovering Henry had to admit: “I think we owe your brother an apology, Fliss, on behalf of the Parker family.”

    “Pooh! And besides, he likes Alfreda, you need not worry on that score!”

    Dimity swallowed. “Ye-es... But I overheard some ladies saying that Aunt Venetia had come to town in order to catch him for Alfreda.”

    “Aden can take care of himself,” said his sister unfeelingly. “And besides, if only he would have the good sense to fall in love with Alfreda, it would be of all things the most delightful! But he will not,” she ended glumly.

    Henry sighed. “No.”

    “I would consider Mr Rowbotham,” announced Dimity.

    The other two stared at her.

    “Not for me! For Alfreda, you imbeciles! He is very pleasant.”

    “You might have Mr Shirley R.,” offered Fliss kindly. “He seemed very interested, I thought.”

    “Pooh!” she cried. “He is almost as unfledged as Mr Lilywhite Minimus! And I am sure even Mr Lilywhite Minor would not tell a young lady that if he was not an Oxford man he would forswear the dark blue for the Cambridge shade!”

    There was a short silence. Then Henry gave a shriek of laughter.

    “He—he cannot have—?” faltered Fliss.

    “Of course he could!” yelped Henry helplessly. “Dimity’s eyes! Ow! Help! Fatuous!”

    Fliss had a choking fit. But said when she was over it: “I suppose he is quite good-looking.”

    “Well, you may have him, then!” said Dimity smartly. “And what on earth he meant by not forswearing the Oxford shade— Unless he meant he had fallen earlier for your dark blue, Henry?”

    “No! Imbecile! The compliment was all for you!” she gasped.

    Dimity thought it over. “Then he is even more fatuous than I supposed.”

    “I think that makes it unanimous, then?” said Henry sedately. Giggling, they agreed.

    Mrs Parker had been delighted, indeed the word “thrilled” would not have been too strong, to chaperon the young ladies to an assembly at that most fashionable and exclusive of venues, Almack’s.

    “Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon seems a very agreeable young man,” she noted.

    Henry took a deep breath. “Mamma, he is an idiot.”

    Mrs Parker’s eyes followed Dimity circling gracefully in the waltz with Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon. He was in the Guards, he was tall and very good-looking, added to which, he was a son of the Marquess of Wade. “Nonsense, my love. And pray try to avoid those exaggerated turns of phrase, Henry, they will not do for a young lady.”

    Henry sighed, but was silent.

    … “Ah!” she said.

    Henry’s heart sank.

    “Mr Felix Lilywhite!” she said.

    Henry’s heart descended right into her shoes and stayed there.

    ... “Lady Sefton! How delightful to see you again!” beamed Mrs Parker. The more so as her ladyship was, of course, one of the Patronesses of Almack’s. Politely Lady Sefton introduced Lady Lavinia Dewesbury, Captain Dewesbury, Miss Dewesbury, and Lady May Claveringham.

    Mrs Parker concealed her shock at finding that Henrietta and Dimity were apparently on terms of close acquaintanceship not only with Gwendolyn Dewesbury (whose mamma was, of course, a Hammond) but also with a daughter of the Earl of Hubbel, and very soon—the girls could not see how, for nothing was said, but perhaps it was by the power of her eye—had Dimity dancing with Captain Dewesbury, the shrinking Ludo leading out Miss Dewesbury, and Theo bowing before Lady May. That left Henry, but in about two seconds flat—Henry could not determine how, for certainly nothing was said, it must have been the power of her mamma’s eye—Lady Sefton had retrieved Mr Pooter Potter and laid him at her feet.

    On the floor Gwendolyn, ventured, very prim: “It is quite a squeaze tonight, is it not, Mr Ludo?”

    “Mm? Oh—aye,” he said glumly. He could see Miss Dewesbury was very lovely and all that stuff, but he had told Mamma he did not wish to do the pretty with young ladies at dashed Almack’s! And besides, the flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Miss Dewesbury had “prunes and prisms” written all over her—and with a mamma like that Lady Whatsername, it wasn’t to be wondered at! –Lady Lavinia tonight was in a very lovely shade of deep violet-blue satin. With plumes on the large matching turban on the head. Terrifying.

    “I collect you are not much of a one for dances and such, Mr Ludo?” continued Gwendolyn, still very prim.

    Mr Ludo jumped. “Er—no. I mean, not at all!” he gasped.

    Gwendolyn’s china-blue eyes sparkled naughtily but she said, straight-faced: “Your sister Henrietta was saying you take a great interest in the canine species, Mr Ludo?”

    “Um—mm,” he agreed, a trifle startled, but assuming Henry must have mentioned his desire for a pup.

    “Most particularly,” said Gwendolyn primly, “the variety with kitchen equipment affixed to its nether end on the occasion of its crossing the Fellows’ Lawn?”

    After a stunned moment Ludo grinned all over his face. “I get it! So Henry’s spilled the beans, eh?”

    Gwendolyn giggled. “Yes! I wish I had seen it! It sounds a great jape!”

    “Aye, it was not half bad. The tricky bit,” he said solemnly, “was tying the pot-lids and so forth to their tails: they kept struggling, you see.”

    “Oh, quite! One really needs an accomplice for such an enterprise! Now when I sawed through the leg of Mamma’s tea-table,”—Mr Ludo gulped—“the tricky thing was to gauge how far to make the cut, so that the table would appear stable, but would be sufficiently weakened to collapse when a tray of tea was laid upon it.”

    “You never!” he gasped.

    “Certainly.”

    “What did they do to you?” asked Mr Ludo suspiciously.

    Gwendolyn looked surprized but replied: “Well, it was last summer: Mamma had intended I should come down to dinner regularly, to prepare me for the Season, you know. But alas, I was banished to the schoolroom as my punishment, and so missed such delights as the Vicar’s complaining there is no-one in the district who can give him a game of chess, Mrs Vicar’s complaining there is no-one in the district to whom one can talk, Papa’s complaining there is no-one in the district who can play the church organ decently, our neighbours the Iveses complaining of the poachers in the  district getting at their trout, our neighbours on the other side—”

    “I get the picture!” he gasped.

    “It was a good summer,” said Gwendolyn with a reminiscent sigh. “My younger brother Reggie and I tickled I know not how many of the Iveses’ trout.”

    Mr Ludo choked ecstatically. “I say, you is not half game!”

    “Thank you,” said Gwendolyn composedly. “Do tell me about your cousins, the Ogilvies. Henry was saying that your cousin Pansy has a boat?”

    Beaming, Ludo plunged into a description of Pansy’s prowess in Poppet, the Commander’s wonderful Finisterre, the epic voyage he had himself undertaken…

    Theo Parker said kindly to the funny little thing he was waltzing with: “So this is your first Season, too, is it, Lady May?”

    The great hazel eyes peeped up at him shyly. “Oh, indeed, sir.”

    “I see. And are you enjoying it?” –Only just stopping himself from adding, “my dear,” for after all her papa must be—well, an earl, at the very least. But she looked even younger than Henry or Dimity.

    Lady May peeped at him again. “Oh, of course, Mr Parker!” she gasped. “Fully as much as Henry!”

    There was a short silence.

    “I see,” said Theo on a grim note.

    Lady May peeped again, and laughed. “Well, it is all an intolerable bore, of course! –Excepting only this dance, dear sir! But I suppose one must recognize that it is one’s duty to go through with it! And emerge with an eligible parti firmly attached to one’s apron-strings at the end of it,” she added, wrinkling her little turned-up nose.

    Mr Parker was conscious of two thoughts: firstly that it would be a pity if she found an eligible parti too soon, and secondly, that the eligible one might count himself a lucky fellow. “Quite. Though I do not think that Henry, at the least, has envisaged that so clearly as the—er—end of the enterprise.”

    “Well, no. But she has not seen her sisters being forced to go through the mill,” said Lady May with a little sigh.

    “Oh? Do you have many sisters, Lady May?”

    “Two older ones still unmarried,” said Lady May, this time with a louder sigh. “Mamma has lately decreed that since Sarah will not make a push to secure the notice of any gentleman she may stay at home and dwindle into an old maid. So she is not here tonight. And Jane, that is my eldest sister, would have chaperoned me as she very often does, only she was so fortunate as to contract a slight cold. Unfortunate, in that she has missed the opportunity of meeting yourself, dear sir!”

    “You may drop that,” said Theo grimly.

    Lady May’s hand squeezed his cheekily; she giggled naughtily. “Well! Is it not ridiculous, all our débutantes taking the obligatory fashionable stance that it is all a dead bore, at the same time as they are necessarily obliged to convey to the gentleman with whom they are dancing at the precise moment of uttering the words ‘dead bore’ that he is, on the contrary, fascinating beyond expression?”

    “Perfectly ridiculous,” said Theo steadily.

    Lady May this time peeped at him uncertainly.

    “I agree: perfectly ridiculous!” he said, laughing. “But permit me to say, you are also perfectly naughty, Miss!”

    “You should not call me Miss,” she said, pouting. “Mamma assures me that a lady of my lineage may well look to an union with a duke!”

    “Which duke?” he said numbly.

    “Well, there you have me at a loss, sir! I don’t think there are any spare dukes!”

    “Quite.”

    “I suppose she might consider a mere marquis. Only the Marquis of Rockingham was the last one that was not either halt and blind, or in leading strings; and he was married off over a year since.”

    “Lady May, you should not be talking of your mamma in such terms,” said Theo firmly.

    Lady May sighed. “No. You do quite right to reprove me. And of course all mothers have ambitions for their children. Only it becomes a trifle wearing, sir!”

    “I can see that it would,” he said sympathetically.

    “I suppose you are very largely free of it,” she said wistfully. “Or does your mamma intend to make you stay in town for the rest of the Season?”

    Theo flushed a little. “My mother no longer has the governing of my comings and goings, Lady May; though naturally I endeavour to fit in with her wishes, when my duties permit.”

    “Yes. Henry said you were very good,” she said glumly.

    At this, for some strange reason, Mr Parker flushed brightly, and said in an annoyed tone: “Did she?”

    “It wasn’t a criticism! She greatly admires you!” she assured him hurriedly.

    “Oh. Well, as I was saying,” he said, eyeing her dubiously: “I do endeavour to fit in with Mamma’s wishes. At the moment my Vicar has very kindly given me permission to remain in the metropolis for some time. And, indeed, given me an introduction to a bishop of his acquaintance,” he added with a tiny sigh.

    “Oh? Do you not wish for it?”

    Theo bit his lip. “The bishop knows of an opening in a fashionable London parish, Lady May. –I would only be assisting, not the incumbent, of course!” he added hurriedly. “Naturally Mamma is quite keen for me to accept, but I— Well, it is not what I would wish for.”

    “Oh. You—you do not wish to go off and be a missionary in the South Seas or anything of that nature, do you, sir?” she said in a tiny voice.

    Theo again looked at her dubiously. She was so very short that all he could see was her bronzy curls and the perky green-gold ribbon in them. “No; I do not think that I would be any good at all at that sort of work.”

    “Good,” said Lady May with a sigh, looking up at him, now very flushed in her turn.

    “There is enough work to be done here in England,” he said.

    “Yes, I suppose there is,” she agreed vaguely.

    Theo hesitated. “Many of the people in the poorer quarters of the great cities live painful and deprived lives. And then, there is much rural poverty also, alas.”

    “Ye-es... Papa says the people bring that sort of thing on themselves. Only I have not been able to see how: it has always seemed to me that they are helpless to alter their condition. Most especially in the face of drought, or floods. And then,” she said, the great hazel eyes looking up at him very seriously: “the system whereby so many men who labour all their lives may not vote for the representatives who will decide their fate seems to me most inequitable.”

    “Inequitable? Yes, indeed!” he said with feeling. “And also iniquitous!”

    Lady May nodded her curly head. “Indeed, yes! Henry thinks so, too: we have spoken of it. But Gwendolyn Dewesbury does not think— Um, well, she is my friend, of course,” she said, pinkening, “and I am very fond of her; but she said it was not needful for young ladies to trouble their heads about such matters. What do you think, Mr Parker?”

    Mr Parker replied slowly: “I think that it is needful for every person of gentle birth to think very deeply about such matters. For if we do not look to those less fortunate than ourselves, who will? And besides, can there be any hope at all for the human race if those who have the benefit of education and fortune do not also exercise charity—in both their thoughts and actions?”

    “Yes. So I think!” she said eagerly, the big eyes now sparkling with unshed tears.

    “I am glad to hear it, my dear,” he said quietly.

    Lady May blinked rapidly, and looked away.

    They circled the floor in silence for a little. Then Mr Parker said awkwardly: “I am afraid that was not really a fit subject for Almack’s Assembly Rooms, and—and that I am not a really a fit partner for a lady like yourself.”

    “Of course you are!” she cried angrily. “And of course it is! As you say yourself, what hope can there be for the human race, if persons like ourselves do not discuss such topics!”

    “Yes. Well, I am glad, at all events, that you are not cross with me for—for boring on.”

    “No,” she said, frowning.

    Theo hesitated. “Lady May, I—I know you sometimes ride out early with Alfreda and Henrietta and your friend. Might I—might I expect to see you out tomorrow, perhaps?”

    She looked up quickly, all smiles. “Oh, yes, Mr Parker!”

    Theo’s heart beat very fast. He smiled into the great hazel eyes, though he knew he should not, and pressed her little hand slightly, though he knew he should not do that, either, and said in a low voice: “Then I promise to be there.” Though he knew he should neither promise that, nor do it. Because after all, she must be the daughter of an earl, at the very least, and he was very much Mr Nobody of Nowhere-in-Particular.

    “Thank God: a rational human being!” said Henry with a grin, as Mr Tarlington came into the breakfast room the next morning in his riding clothes.

    “Glad you think so,” he responded drily. “Where’s the rest of ’em?”

    “Asleep.”

    “What, Alfreda, too?”

    “Yes: and so would you be if you had the things to forget from last evening that she has, poor thing!”

    “Never tell me old Tobias Vane was at Almack’s,” he drawled.

    “No. But Mamma made her dance with Mr Lilywhite. –Minor,” she added.

    Mr Tarlington strolled over to the table and inspected the bread rolls. “Eh?”

    “Minor! There are two of them, Minor and Minimus. Did you not know?”

    “Uh—not consciously. Had a feeling the town was infested with white mice, however.”

    “Cousin Aden! How clever!” cried Henry, laughing. “They are precisely that: white mice with pink eyes and noses!”

    She was sitting at the head of the table in a little patch of sunlight; he came over to her with his roll, smiling. “Mm. So it’s just you and me this morning?”

    “Plus Gwendolyn: yes. Ludo said he would come, only he was snoring his head off when I looked. And Lady May swore she would meet us in the Park, only I have heard that before!” she said, laughing.

    Mr Tarlington looked down at her with an odd little smile. “Mm.”

    “What is it?” said Henry uncertainly.

    “Nothing. –You should wear sapphires,” he said, moving away and pulling out a chair carelessly.

    “Yes! I entirely agree! In fact I should be buried in ’em up to my neck! And rubies and emeralds and diamonds as well!” said Henry, laughing.

    “Rats. Rubies are for mature women. I’ll let you wear old Jeremiah Aden’s rubies at, say, thirty-five. But a lady with eyes like yours can’t wear emeralds: sorry.”

    Henry looked at him uncertainly. “Did your old cousin leave you any rubies?”

    “Mm. Very fine ones.”

    “Oh. Well, I suppose by the time I am thirty-five I shall be married to some horrid curmudgeon who would say it was not the thing for me to wear your rubies,” she said glumly.

    Aden munched his roll. “Very like. Has your mamma spoken to you on the topic?”

    “No. But I know she’s going to. She made me dance with the Lilywhites Minor and Minimus last night, and both Quayle-Sturts, and positively beamed approval when Mr Edward Claveringham asked me a second time, and— I forget. Oh: Pooter Potter.”

    “Thought he was Fliss’s special beau?” he drawled.

    Henry choked.

    “And if she has destined Lilywhite Minor for Alfreda, than I’m sorry, Cousin Henry: that only leaves Minimus for you.”

    “I’ll give him to Dimity,” she decided.

    “Oh: admires both of you, does he?”

    “Apparently. Oh: but we have discovered that Mr Shirley Rowbotham definitely prefers Dimity!” She repeated Mr Shirley’s fatuous compliment. Mr Tarlington had incautiously taken a sip of coffee. He choked violently.

    Henry got up and ran to pat him on the back. “Don’t choke to death over it! But is it not exquisite? He insults her and compliments her in the one breath, the imbecile! –There, are you better?” she said, bending over him, smiling.

    Aden looked into the deep sapphires and flushed darkly. “Yes.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Aye. Don’t thump me any more: me constitution’s distinctly weakened by hearin’ of young Shirley’s inanity.”

    Henry returned to her seat, grinning.

    “So you had a damned dull evening?” he said, finishing his coffee.

    Henry replied composedly: “I always do, at Almack’s. But I must admit it was the nadir of the Season, yes.”

    “Can’t tell that until it’s over! –Miss Dewesbury’s late, isn’t she?” he added, getting out his watch and comparing it with the clock.

    “No, she said she would probably be half an hour later than usual.”

    “I see. Look, I could mount you, you know, there’s no need to go on using old Dewesbury’s horses,” he said with a frown.

    “That’s very generous of you, but Fliss tells us there is not a horse in your stables that is a fit ride for a lady.”

    “Uh—well, I could purchase—”

    “Do not be absurd; you could not, when Sir Lionel is glad to do it! Besides, I love riding old Dapple Apple.”

    “Dapple Apple!” said Mr Tarlington with a snort. “The creature’s a roan!”

    “I think it’s a lovely name: Gwendolyn’s sister named him when he was a foal.”

    “Mm: thirty years back,” he noted drily.

    Henry choked slightly but retorted with spirit: “No such thing! He may not be feisty, but he is very sweet-natured!”

    “This will be Mr Lilywhite, will it?” said a third voice.

    Henry jumped and gasped. “What are you doing up?”

    “I normally rise at a reasonable hour,” replied Theo calmly. “Good morning, Tarlington.”

    “Morning, Parker,” replied Mr Tarlington, grinning.

    “You don’t intend to ride with us, do you?” said Henry.

    “Since he is in riding dress, that would be the usual conclusion,” said Mr Tarlington smoothly, as Theo poured himself a cup of coffee. “It was a horse, by the way, Parker.”

    “I’m glad to hear it,” said Theo with a smile, sitting down.

    “Have something to eat: we have plenty of time,” noted Mr Tarlington: “Miss Dewesbury apparently intends to be half an hour later than usual.”

    “I breakfasted some time since, thanks, Tarlington.”

    “What time did you get up?” said Henry in astonishment.

    “Does she always interrogate you like this, Parker?” asked Mr Tarlington in some amusement.

    “It is the penalty of being a brother,” he said solemnly.

    Henry reddened. “Don’t be horrid: I only asked!”

    “I woke quite early to the unaccustomed noises of London,” said Theo with a smile. “So I read for a little, and prayed a little, and after my breakfast went out, as it is such a beautiful morning.” He could see that during this speech an uncomfortable expression came over Aden Tarlington’s face and he looked away. Theo eyed him with a certain amusement.

    “I see,” said Henry, apparently satisfied. “—Theo believes that exercising the limbs in the midst of God’s creation—provided that one has due gratitude for being able to, of course—is as good as prayer,” she explained to Mr Tarlington.

    “Indeed?”

    Theo again eyed him in some amusement.

    “And one has a similar experience in the great abbeys and cathedrals, do you not find?” continued Henry. “When we went to Westminster Abbey, I—”

    “Henry, dearest, although I quite agree, I think that will do: our cousin is not used to talking on such topics.” said Mr Parker gently.

    “What is wrong with being grateful for the beauties of the world, whether God-given or created by God’s creatures?” cried Henry, staring at Mr Tarlington.

    “Nothing. I’m glad you can feel it, Cousin,” he said curtly, getting up and striding over to the window. “But don’t expect to feel it this morning: Miss Dewesbury is going to make us so late that the dew will be off the Park and the streets will be filled with quizzes and cits.”

    Henry opened her mouth but Mr Parker shook his head at her, so she lapsed into silence, looking at Mr Tarlington uncertainly.

    Theo sipped his coffee unconcernedly. “I also took the opportunity of calling in at a livery stable to hire a horse.”

    “No need to do that, for the Lord’s sake: I can mount you!” said Mr Tarlington on an irritable note.

    “Thank you, Cousin, that’s very good of you.”

    “Don’t give him that black with the nasty temper,” said Henry anxiously. “He is not such a good rider as you.”

    “Perhaps you had better let him use Dapple Apple, then,” he returned nastily.

    “You know he is used to being a lady’s horse! What on earth’s the matter with you, Cousin Aden?” she said in astonishment.

    “Nothing,” he said, going very red and turning away to the window again. “Are they never— I shall go and look for them!” He flung out of the room.

    “What on earth can be the matter with him?” said Henry in astonishment.

    Theo smiled a little wryly. “Well, two things, I think, Henry. He is evidently a little jealous of our relationship.”

    Henry looked blank.

    “I think you wrote that he and his sister do not get on, did you not, my love?”

    “Oh,” she said, swallowing. “You mean... That’s ridiculous!”

    “I would call it, rather, sad,” he murmured. “And the second thing—well, he was embarrassed, I think, to hear us speak so naturally of God and His creation.”

    “You are in Holy Orders, and we are both the children of a clergyman: what did he expect?”

    “Obviously, not that,” he murmured.

    “No.” Henry looked dubious. “Shall I go and—and try to calm him down?”

    “That or rub salt in his wound!” said Theo with a laugh. “No, no: I’m sorry, Henry: don’t eat me! Do go if you think you can say anything that will help.”

    Henry got up, looking uncertain. “I shall not recant,” she warned.

    “I know,” said Theo placidly.

    Henry went out still looking uncertain.

    Theo smiled. He rather thought there was a third reason for Mr Tarlington’s jealous discomfort: but he could see that Henry did not suspect. And he was very sure his mamma did not, or it would not have been Alfreda whom she would have thrown at Cousin Tarlington’s head last night!

    The front door was open and Mr Tarlington was standing on the steps looking up and down the street, scowling. Henry went up to him and touched his arm gently. He gasped, and leapt.

    “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly.

    “I didn’t hear you,” he replied lamely. “There’s no sign of them.”

    “No. Um... Cousin Aden, Theo and I did not mean to—to embarrass you, or—or exclude you.”

    “I know,” he said stiffly.

    “I’m very fond of him. He’s much the brightest of my brothers and sisters. And—and although he is a clergyman, he will never mind what one says to him, and—and he has a great sense of fun.”

    “Yes.”

    Henry sighed. “The creating Deity is as much a reality to us as the creation, you know. I cannot say I am sorry for having spoken of such things. But I am sorry if I embarrassed you.”

    “It wasn’t that. Well, perhaps I was a little taken aback. I—I think you made me realize, between the pair of you, what a large gap there is between your experience and mine, and how very different your home life must be.”

    “Ye-es... Well, of course it is. But you have been grown-up for a long time, now.”

    “I was not thinking of myself, so much, but of Fliss and of Ferdy, Hilliard and Paul.”

    “Your little brothers? –Yes,” she said as he nodded. “I see.”

    “Do you think it would be better if I removed them entirely from Mamma’s charge?” he demanded abruptly.

    Henry chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “No,” she said, just as he was about to say to forget he had spoken. “For after all, she is their mamma. I think they would feel it as a wrench, however little they see of her. And—and of your papa.”

    “He gets their names mixed up,” he said.

    Henry looked up at him anxiously. Mr Tarlington was glaring unseeingly into the street. “I see. But older people very often do, I have remarked,” she said, touching his arm gently. “I think it would not do to take them away from their home. The best thing you might do is to be home when they are, and—well, the sorts of things Theo does with the boys, I suppose, when he is home: he teaches them to use a gun and takes them out with him, and so forth. Though Egg’s legs are too long for the ponies, now, and there is not always a horse free for him to use. But I am sure your brothers do not have that problem, sir!” she added with a smile.

    “No, indeed,” he murmured.

    He had not sounded discouraging, so Henry went on: “And—and perhaps—well, I know children can be a nuisance, but when you go off to your own estate, the one your old cousin left you, perhaps you could sometimes take the boys with you?”

    “Yes,” he said with a sigh.

    “How old are they, now?”

    “Ferdy is nearly sixteen, and we will have to be thinking about some sort of a career for him very soon: time flies,” he said with another sigh. “Hilliard is fourteen, and Paul not yet twelve. I sent him to school far too young, I know that. But they were running wild at home, and he would have missed the others cruelly had they been sent and not him.”

    “Yes, of course: it was the lesser of the two evils.”

    “Mm.”

    “Is he happy at school, Cousin?”

    “Very: he is a sturdy little chap, and the rough and tumble of a lot of boys together does not seem to have affected him adversely. Hilliard was not very happy at first, but having Ferdy there made it easier for him.”

    “Yes, of course. Mamma says boys are very like puppies, and in many ways I think she is right!” said Henry with a little gurgle.

    “Aye,” he said, smiling at her. “Puppies is exactly it: to see ’em tumble round on the lawn when they are home together—!”

    Henry perceived that he was very fond of his little brothers: she squeezed his arm and said: “Yes.”

    Suddenly Mr Tarlington put his hand over hers. “I will do what you say. I think I have been neglecting them, poor little chaps.”

    “Good!” she approved.

    Mr Tarlington smiled a little, but did not say anything about basking in the sun of his cousin’s approval. He looked round and said: “Ah: here they are, at last!”

    “Yes. And of course it is obvious why they are so late!”

    He looked blank: his mind felt rather stunned.

    “Gwendolyn was winkling Captain Dewesbury out of his pit!” she chortled.

    “Aye: of course!”

    Henry was relieved to see him look so cheerful: she had been afraid he might feel she had said too much. She greeted the Dewesburys and ran inside to tell Theo they might set off. “Are you ready, Theo?”

    “Ye-es...”

    “You are coming, are you?”

    “Yes,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “I am.”

    “Good. –You were right: Cousin Aden was jealous of—of our relationship and our home life.”

    “What? Oh,” he said, forcing a smile. “And you spoke to him kindly?”

    “Yes. He talked about his little brothers. I think he truly does love them, Theo, only he does not quite know how to treat them. –Does that sound silly?”

    “No. It is not unnatural: he cannot have seen very much of them in their formative years, if he was away with the Army.”

    Henry nodded.

    “So you spoke of them?” he murmured, accompanying her to the door.

    “Yes. He—he appears hard at first, only underneath I think he is not. You—you will to try to like him, won’t you, Theo? I think perhaps he is not a very happy man.”

    Theo smiled, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Indeed, l shall try to like him! Run and get your hat, my love!”

    Henry rushed upstairs forthwith.

    Theo’s hat was on the hall table where he had left it. He picked it up slowly. No, he decided, he would not speak to Mamma about Henry and Cousin Aden. Henry was as yet too immature for anything like an engagement to be contemplated. And—well, it was best to let these things develop at their own pace, if they were to develop at all. But it did not look unpromising: he did not think the Henry of three months back would have bothered to follow their cousin out in order to comfort him!

    “Good gracious, she got up!” said Henry as Lady May Claveringham was almost immediately espied on their reaching the Park.

    “Yes. Who—who are the gentlemen with her, Henry?” asked her brother.

    Henry did not notice that Theo was a trifle hoarse: she replied cheerfully: “The shorter, younger one is her cousin, Mr Edward Claveringham. I think you may have been introduced to him last night. And the older gentlemen are Sir Noël Amory, in the very beautiful black coat, mounted on the grey, and his uncle, Mr Bobby Amory, in the scarcely less beautiful brown coat, mounted on the bay. He is in for a disappointment, I fear!”

    “What do you mean?”

    “He is Alfreda’s greatest admirer after Mr Tobias Vane!” said Henry with a grin.

    “No, no: poor dear Wilf would dispute that!” Mr Tarlington objected, laughing.

    “Very well: he and Cousin Aden’s friend Mr Rowbotham are rivals for second place!”

    Mr Parker had to swallow. “Alfreda has written nothing of this to Mamma and Papa, I am very sure.”

    “No, well, why should she? She cannot care for either of them: they are pleasant enough, but only fribbles, after all!” said Henry cheerfully. “Mr Rowbotham has made a great cake of himself besides, for his notion of courtship is apparently to smother a lady in posies!”

    “That’ll do,” ordered Mr Tarlington with a grin. “Though I concede that neither Wilf nor Bobby Amory is the type of man one would expect a sensible woman like Cousin Alfreda to prefer: she’s in the right of it, Cousin. And Noël Amory’s an old friend of mine; don’t mean he ain’t a damned Pink, though! Come along: let me introduce you!”

    Theo let himself be hurried on to be introduced. He felt somewhat stunned, and wished very much that, if she had not felt she could confide in Mamma, Alfreda had at least written to him, for he might have been forewarned, and it was to be feared, forearmed. Because it was clear that Mr Bobby Amory was a very fashionable gentleman indeed: Mamma would but have to set eyes on… Oh, dear.

    Very soon, however, all thoughts of his sister’s problems were driven out of his head, and he ranged alongside little Lady May, very happy indeed to find her greet him with that bright, excited look on her taking little countenance that he had seen last night. And pushing to the back of his mind, just for the morning, the thought that he should not, and she should not, and he should not encourage her.

    If Mr Bobby Amory was, indeed, very disappointed that Alfreda was not riding this morning, he concealed it nobly and, though slightly hampered by Captain Quentin Dewesbury’s efforts to sell him a horse, gallantly made himself agreeable to Gwendolyn.

    Mr Tarlington returned to Henry’s side, closely accompanied by his old friend.

    Sir Noël had decided firmly that in the first place he would not think of Miss Pansy Ogilvie again, and that in the second place the twin stars were a pair of perfect little peaches; and if the Golden Star were not the most intelligent girl that ever walked, she was nevertheless pretty enough and more than rich enough; and if the Dark Star were not the heiress, she was nevertheless ravishingly pretty and extremely bright. So either would do. And in the latter case—for he was in a very bad mood indeed, though not admitting as much to himself—if, as he had begun to suspect, Aden had developed a tendre there, he would not half mind putting the fellow’s nose out of joint! He knew that Henry would not precisely flirt, but he also knew by now that if one spoke to her in a frank, open manner and joked a lot she would respond very satisfactorily. He therefore did this, observing with considerable amusement the storm-clouds gathering on his old friend’s brow as Miss Henrietta laughed and chattered.

    Poor Mr Edward Claveringham rode at Sir Noël’s other side, looking most disconsolate; but it must be admitted that neither the baronet nor, alas, Miss Henrietta spared him a single thought.

    Mr Tarlington was very much occupied with his own feelings and reflections but he did not fail to remark with some surprize how well Theo Parker was getting on with little Lady May. He was not displeased: he had decided that Theo was a damned admirable fellow; and Lady May, if perhaps too frivolous for a man of the cloth, was a sweet enough girl; but he was under no illusion as to what her august family would feel about it. An obscure parson, from a family where they could not even afford to mount all their boys? Hell, he thought. Let’s hope it’s only a flash in the pan. Or that the fellow has the sense to sheer off.

    It did not seem, by the time the Gratton-Gordon ball came around, that Theo had had the sense to sheer off. Mr Tarlington had certainly observed him in the interval waltzing with Lady May at a dance, chatting with Lady May at a rout party, assisting Lady May to play spillikins at a card party where the thoughtful hostess had provided lighter diversion for the younger persons present, and, inevitably, since he himself had ridden out with Henry and Alfreda every morning since and Lady May had made one of the party every morning since, riding at Lady May’s side in the Park. Certainly Theo had also, at the various dances and parties, done his duty by other young ladies, but Mr Tarlington did not think that counted for anything.

    And, apparently, nor did Sir Noël: he also, not to his old friend’s pleasure, had been a regular member of the riding party over the past week, and he now came up to where Mr Tarlington and Wilfred Rowbotham were propping up a wall at the ball and said: “Dare say we shall see what we shall see, mm?”

    “Obscure, Noël,” said Mr Tarlington witheringly.

    Sir Noël followed his friend’s gaze to where Lady May Claveringham, exquisite in an unusual combination of a pale apricot gown with russet ribands, was sitting next her formidable mamma, Lady Hubbel. “Look, Aden, Parker seems a decent enough fellow, but it won’t do, y’know,” he said awkwardly. “Could you not hint him off?”

    “I imagine Lady Hubbel is more than capable of doing that for herself,” he returned in a hard voice.

    Mr Rowbotham shuddered, nodding.

    “Well, you are right, there!” agreed Sir Noël with feeling. “Er—talkin’ of the Claveringhams, nothing more on the Harpingdon front, old chap?”

    “What? Oh—no.” He frowned. “I cannot believe that Harpy will marry where he cannot love.”

    Sir Noël sighed. “Mayhap you are right. Only Lady Hubbel has trotted out poor Lady Jane tonight, you see?”

    Lady Jane Claveringham was sitting at Lady May’s other side, looking dispirited. Her gown was very pretty: a pale pink silk, decorated with flounces and little sprays of roses, but above it her face was very pale.

    “Mm.”

    Mr Rowbotham also looked at the Claveringham ladies. “Aye. Harpy is sure to be here: the G.-G.s are connections, ain’t they? And I don’t think I am mistaken in saying this is the first time we have seen little Lady M. being chaperoned by her mamma in person since the day your ecclesiastical cousin was come to town, old boy. –I say, someone in that family has exquisite taste: can’t believe it’s Lady H.!” he added with a sudden grin, eyeing Lady Hubbel’s particularly loud puce silk.

    “No: Lucas Claveringham once told me it’s Lady Sarah, as a matter of fact. She has always dressed all of the girls since she was knee-high, practically!” said Sir Noël, smiling.

    “She don’t look too happy on it,” noted Mr Tarlington drily.

    Lady Sarah was at her mamma’s other hand. Possibly Lady Hubbel had changed her mind about letting her second-oldest unmarried daughter dwindle away into an old maid. Lady Sarah was a slender girl: not horse-faced, as some had been known to claim, but with a thin, very aristocratic-looking face, delicate, elegant features, and a lot of very light brown hair. Had she been happy she might have passed for a very beautiful woman; at the moment, she was clearly not happy and the narrow face was as pale and depressed-looking as her older sister’s.

    “Has she been on the town long? Don’t think I have scarcely laid eyes on her, as a matter of fact,” said Mr Rowbotham idly.

    Sir Noël shrugged. “Officially, she has. Only Lady H. was very much occupied around the time of her come-out with marrying off—er—Lady Pamela, think it was, to that Jefferson fellow. Well, not a bad fellow, but old enough to be the girl’s father and then some! And—uh—oh, yes, then she got carried away with the notion that York would offer for Lady Jane, and I think Lady Sarah got pushed off onto some old cousin in... forget; Lucas did once mention it. Um—Tunbridge Wells, I think. Well, I have scarce laid eyes on her, meself, though I have known Lucas forever,” he admitted.

    “Poor Lady Sarah, in fact,” noted Mr Tarlington.

    “Oh, quite,” agreed Mr Rowbotham, now looking bored. “Oh, yes: I remember Lady Pamela, she was the very pretty one.”

    Sir Noël nodded. “Dark girl. Had a look of Miss Parker about her.”

    “Very amusing, Noël!” he said crossly, walking away from them.

    Sir Noël shrugged. “Lord: he has got it bad.”

    “Yes.”

    “Won’t answer, will it?”

    “Doubt it. He ain’t up to her weight, poor old Wilf.”

    “No. –Is the mamma aware of it?”

    They both watched as Mr Rowbotham crossed the dance floor and went over to where Miss Parker was sitting quietly with her Mamma. “She is now,” noted Aden drily.

    “Aye. –Where is the twin stars?”

    “One of ’em’s dancing with your uncle,” he noted drily.

    Sir Noël smiled, as he spotted Bobby going down a set in the country dance with Miss Dimity. “The Golden Star’s developed a tendre for Bobby, have you noticed?”

    “I can’t say I have: no. What is more, I ain’t interested.”

    Sir Noël smiled again, this time not very nicely, and said slyly: “Is you interested in the fact that old Curwellion has sequestered the Dark Star in that corner?”

    “What? By God!” Mr Tarlington, a furious scowl on his face, marched off to rescue Henrietta from one of the most notorious rakes in town.

    Sir Noël continued to smile not very nicely. Suspicion confirmed? Not that any fellow would not rescue his cousin from Curwellion—only he hadn’t looked like a cousin, to him!

    “What—what is wrong with him?” faltered Henry, as an icily furious Mr Tarlington informed her in an undertone that she should know better than to be seen with such a fellow. He had got rid of Lord Curwellion by means of looking down his straight nose at him in the most horrific way; true, his Lordship had looked mockingly and executed a flourishing bow in response, but he had retreated.

    “Oh—Lord,” said Mr Tarlington lamely.

    Henry’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Is he a rake?”

    “Yes! And be quiet!” he hissed. “Who the Devil introduced you to him?”

    “Um... That lady,” she said, nodding towards a plumpish blonde lady resplendent in two shades of dark pink, with a magnificent diadem on the head.

    “My God,” said Mr Tarlington numbly.

    “I’m not very sure of her name. She spoke very kindly to Alfreda and me at a rout party.”

    Mr Tarlington closed his eyes for a second. Bobby Amory’s ex-mistress, Hermione, Lady Hethersett. “Her name,” he said faintly, “is Lady Hethersett, and wherever you and Alfreda may have met her, she is not a fit person for you to know, either.”

    “Oh,” said Henrietta in a puzzled voice.

    “Never mind; come along back to your mamma.”

    She caught at his sleeve. “Must I? She is being very awful and—and making me dance with dreadful young men.”

    “Yes,” he said grimly.

    “But she— You can’t possibly understand, Cousin Aden,” said Henry desperately as he gripped her arm very tightly, “but she has a special gracious face that she puts on whenever she—she wishes to—to be particularly encouraging to a gentleman, and—and it is just so dreadful!”

    “I can understand. But I am afraid there is nothing to be done about it.”

    “It isn’t fair!”

    “I agree. It is not.” Mr Tarlington led her up to her mamma. “Aunt Venetia, I must warn you that it was entirely injudicious of you to allow that fellow Curwellion to speak to Henrietta.”

    Mr Rowbotham was now seated beside Alfreda; he gave an anguished cough.

    “I—I was dancing with Mr Edward Claveringham, Mamma, and he—he went off to get me a drink, and then Lady Hethersett came up and—and—”

    “Yes: hush,” said Mr Tarlington sternly. “Surely you did not fail to remark that the fellow had taken Henry into a corner, ma’am?” he said grimly to his aunt.

    Mrs Parker was now very flushed. “I—well…”

    “Cousin Aden,” said Alfreda in distress, “I did try to represent to Mamma that I—I once saw him in the Park in—in unsuitable company.” –Mr Rowbotham turned a violent puce.

    “But he is an elderly gentleman; and Mrs Gratton-Gordon herself was talking to him with every appearance of complaisance, not ten minutes since!” protested Mrs Parker.

    “Cousin Alfreda: please take a stroll with Henrietta,” said Mr Tarlington grimly. “Wilf, you may escort ’em, since you apparently have not the initiative to do anything more.”

    “Yes, come along, dearest: if you did not get your drink, we shall fetch you one,” said Alfreda quickly, leading her sister and the puce Mr Rowbotham away.

    Mr Tarlington sat down. “Imprimis, for a girl to be sequestered in a corner by any gentleman, of whatever age, is enough to give her the reputation of being fast, Aunt Parker. Secundus, Lord Curwellion is a notorious rake, though you cannot be blamed for not knowing it; and I will allow that his manners are irreproachable, and he is received almost everywhere—though you will not see him Lady Sefton’s house.”—Mrs Parker was already very flushed but at this she went even redder.—“And tertius, let me make the relationships clear to you: our hostess was for many years Lord Curwellion’s mistress and several of her children are his, not Mr G.-G.’s; the lady who made it her business to introduce his Lordship to Henrietta—over there in the pink, ma’am—also enjoyed his Lordship’s patronage for some years, though more latterly she has been in the habit of honouring Bobby Amory with the favours that were formerly Curwellion’s; and Bobby Amory, within the past month, has left her flat for your eldest daughter.”

    “What?” she gasped.

    He shrugged. “The on-dit has it, he would have dumped her anyway, but yes: his admiration for Alfreda was the immediate cause. It’s all over the clubs. The odds have shortened to three to one that Alfreda will have him before the Season is out—oh, in holy matrimony, do not disturb yourself on that score: Bobby ain’t a despoiler of virgins. Though I would not wager a groat that Curwellion is not.” He got up. “Need I add, Curwellion, Mrs Gratton-Gordon and Lady Hethersett—the lady in pink—are now all on the most amicable of terms. –Is that explicit enough for you, Aunt?”

    “Yes,” she said, now very white.

    He looked down at her not unkindly. “London is not all pretty little débutantes and innocent young gentlemen like Edward Claveringham and the Messrs Lilywhite. Bear it in mind.”

    “I shall. And—and thank you for rescuing Henry, Aden,” she said faintly.

    “Not at all, ma’am,” he returned colourlessly, bowing slightly and moving away.

    Mrs Parker was left to enjoy her own reflections.

    “I cannot understand it,” said Dimity sadly. “Aunt Venetia was—was all complaisance to Mr Bobby Amory until the minute he returned me to my seat after our dance. And then she nigh cut him dead! And said that Alfreda had no intention of dancing the next dance, and—and looked daggers at him!”

    Fliss agreed that it was very odd indeed. –The two maidens were sitting happily together, Lady Tarlington. who was ostensibly chaperoning her daughter, having disappeared in the direction of where Mrs Gratton-Gordon had laid out cards for those who did not care to dance. “Perhaps she has heard he has no fortune, Dimity?”

    Dimity looked dubious. “He is not precisely a pauper, I think?”

    “No-o… Ooh, Dimity: Mr Rowbotham was sitting with them: do you think perhaps he asked permission to pay Alfreda his addresses?” she gasped.

    Dimity brightened, but then said: “Do you think Mr Rowbotham would, in the middle of a ball? Do they not generally come to call, in such a situation?”

    “Well, yes. How did Alfreda look?”

    “I didn’t really notice.” admitted Dimity regretfully.

    “Well, is she dancing with him now?”

    They peered eagerly at the throng.

    “No, Henry is,” said Dimity sadly.

    “Henry is what?” said a very grim voice.

    Dimity returned anxiously: “Only dancing with your friend Mr Rowbotham, Cousin Aden. Is that not all right?”

    “Oh. Yes, that is all right. Where is Alfreda?”

    Fliss swallowed. “She is taking a turn on Mr Tobias Vane’s arm.”

    “Well, she’s safe enough with him, at all events,” said Mr Tarlington drily. “But what the Devil are you two doing by yourselves?”

    “I think Mamma has gone to play cards,” said Fliss vaguely.

    He took a deep breath. “No doubt. But in future when she deserts you, Fliss—and you too, Dimity—you will join my aunt or Cousin Alfreda at once: do you understand?”

    “We were only sitting!” cried Fliss, pouting.

    Mr Tarlington passed his hand over his face. “Yes. But only sitting alone is not proper conduct in very young girls at large balls. And not all the gentlemen who may approach you at such a gathering will—er—be entirely respectable.”

    “I am sure Rosalind and Clarissa G.-G.’s mamma does not know any people who aren’t respectable!” cried Fliss in astonishment.

    Mr Tarlington passed his hand across his face again. “Oh, God,” he muttered. “Er—mm. Well, you had better take my arms, and—and if I find someone for you to dance with, come straight back to me after the dance, understood?”

    “Do you mean you are going to chaperon us, Cousin Aden?” cried Dimity, her face lighting up.

    “God help me: yes,” he groaned.

    Beaming, the two innocent damsels grabbed his arms.

    If Mrs Gratton-Gordon’s morals were not precisely impeccable, she was not an entirely malicious woman, and would probably not have acted as she did that night had she not been driven to it. But having failed to secure even one dance for either Rosalind or Clarissa with their eligible connection Aden Tarlington, and failed also to secure a dance for either daughter with their other eligible connection, Viscount Harpingdon, and having besides endured seeing Rosalind or Clarissa and sometimes both sitting by the wall whilst Alfreda Parker, with the three counts against her of being portionless, a nobody, and more than old enough to be on the shelf, did very much not lack for partners, she was not in the best of moods: and seeing Aden Tarlington proceed to present those two giggling Misses, Felicity Tarlington and Dimity Parker, to his own set, and having to watch helplessly whilst they whirled in the arms of the accomplished Mr Rowbotham, Sir Noël Amory, Lord Rupert Narrowmine and, final insult, Lord Harpingdon himself, was the last straw.

    Putting on her most gracious smile, she went up to where the two Parker boys were sitting by their provincial bore of a mamma. “Now, this will not do! Two handsome young men sitting out at a dance! I am sure your mamma will forgive me if I deprive her of your company!”

    “Yes, indeed,” said Mrs Parker faintly, scarce able to look her hostess in the eye. Well, one knew, of course, that persons in London Society... But to have it thrust under one’s very nose like that!

   … “I think perhaps you know Lady May Claveringham, Mr Parker?” said Mrs Grafton-Gordon sweetly, having pushed the younger boy, who had not been the object of the exercise at all, off onto young Miss Potter. “Lady Hubbel, may I present Mr Parker?”

    Mr Parker bowed very low and professed himself delighted. And promptly begged this waltz of the dimpling Lady May.

    Lady Hubbel said nothing until her hostess had given her an arch smile and departed. Then she said in a very firm voice indeed: “Jane: who is that young man?”

    “He is a Mr Parker, Mamma,” said Lady Jane faintly.

    “Mamma, she does not know him: he is but lately come to London, and she has had her cold,” said Lady Sarah, only slightly less faint.

    Lady Hubbel’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

    Lady Sarah swallowed. “I believe he is the brother of Miss Parker and Miss Henrietta. They are connections of Lady Tarlington’s.”

    There was a short pause.

    “I do not believe I know any Parkers.”

    Wincing, Lady Jane said faintly: “One meets them forever at Almack’s, Mamma.”

    “And—and Miss Henrietta has become friends with Gwendolyn Dewesbury,” faltered Lady Sarah.

    There was a short pause. “I shall speak to Lady Lavinia Dewesbury,” she pronounced.

    The Claveringham girls avoided each other’s eyes.

    Lady Hubbel rose. “If Harpingdon should approach you, Jane, you are to dance with him. And Sarah, I do not wish to see you with that frown upon your face. That is not the way to attract the gentlemen at a dance.” She sailed off.

    After a moment Lady Sarah gulped: “At least we did not say he is but a curate.”

    Lady Jane sighed. “No. But she will find it out soon enough.”

    “I wonder how much Gwendolyn Dewesbury tells her mamma?”

    Lady Jane sighed again. “Very little, I should suppose. But I would not say the same of her groom. And I think Captain Dewesbury is probably—”

    “Putty in Lady Lavinia’s hands,” said Sarah, frowning.

    “I was going to say, quite careful to keep his mamma informed of whom his little sister meets. Well, it is understandable, my love.”

    “It is putty in her hands, you mean!”

    Lady Jane smiled wanly. “Well, yes.”

    Lady Sarah gave her an anxious look. Then she touched her sister’s hand gently and said: “Dearest, Lord Harpingdon has been present for some time and has not approached you. Can it be that—that this new scheme is largely in Mamma’s head, like the Duke of York fiasco?”

    Lady Jane shuddered. “It was not only in Mamma’s head when she left me with the Prince Regent and he took me into the conservatory!”

    “No. very true, only that was a misunderstanding. And you have promised you will not think of it.” Her sister nodded, blinking. Lady Sarah squeezed her hand. “And apart from that, it was all in Mamma’s head.”

    “Yes,” she gulped. “But this is in Papa’s, too. And I know he has spoken to Lord Blefford.”

    “Ye-es... But my love, it is Lord Harpingdon who must agree, not Lord Blefford.”

    “Yes,” she said faintly.

    Her sister looked at her anxiously. “Jane, you know you can always speak to Broughamwood: he will always take your part against Mamma and Papa. Look at how he stuck up for Lucas when he wished to marry Dorothea!”

    “Yes. Only I do not wish to come between Broughamwood and Papa. And besides, our dear brother is not a well man, and I—I do not feel I—I should... bother him,” she ended, very low.

    “He has been very well this year: that troublesome cough has quite disappeared. And he would never wish to see you suffer, dearest.”

    “No,” she said wanly.

    Lady Sarah bit her lip. “I suppose you could always go to Lucas and Dorothea at Uncle Henry Kenworthy’s. I know they would love to have you.”

    “How? You know she does not allow us that sort of money.”

    Lady Sarah was horribly taken aback: she had not envisaged an immediate fugue, or anything like it, and to realize that the idea had actually entered her gentle sister’s head—! After a moment she managed: “If you wrote to Lucas or to dear Dorothea, they would send you the money for a post-chaise. Or very probably send Uncle Henry’s own coach!” She squeezed her hand again.

    “Yes; but I cannot see Mamma letting me get into it,” she owned with a wan smile.

    Lady Sarah’s lower lip trembled but she said valiantly: “Well, if it comes to that, May and I will kick up such a fuss that she will have to let you go or be shamed in front of the servants and—and the whole square!”

    Lady Jane smiled wanly again. “I think you would. Thank you, my love.”

    “Anyway, it may not come to that,” said Lady Sarah, looking at Lord Harpingdon whirling Miss Henrietta Parker in the waltz, and laughing very much as he did so.

    “No,” she said faintly.

    … Lady Lavinia Dewesbury had known Lady Hubbel for many years and disliked her intensely for many years. But she was a truthful woman and so found herself saying, very much against her inclinations: “I believe the Parkers are a very respectable family. But there is no money: no.”

    Lady Hubbel’s mouth tightened.

    “I do not think there can be any harm in it: May is as yet very young.”

    “Do you permit him to dance with Gwendolyn?”

    “Most certainly: as I say, they are a respectable family. The older sister is a charming young woman.”

    The older sister was at the moment smiling up at Mr Wilfred Rowbotham in the waltz: Lady Hubbel replied grimly: “A charming young woman who by my count has just favoured that imbecile Wilfred Rowbotham with a third dance.”

    Lady Lavinia swallowed a sigh. “One hears he is much épris in that direction. And it would be quite a suitable match: he is a close friend of Aden Tarlington’s.”

    She was more than somewhat taken aback when Lady Hubbel replied coldly to this unexceptionable remark: “That would be convenient for all three of them.”

    “Aden is not dancing, tonight,” murmured Lord Harpingdon.

    Sir Noël shrugged. “Lost his bottle: I have well and truly cut him out with the twin stars!”

    Harpingdon smiled a little. “Look out, or Sir Lionel Dewesbury may appear from the card room and depress your pretensions utterly! Er, I had thought...”

    Noël shrugged again. “I don’t know what you thought, Harpy, but for my part I thought I might help my Uncle Bobby to cut Aden out with the lovely Miss Parker. Only it ain’t her.”

    “Oh?” he said faintly.

    “No. Well, dare say you might get that old fool, Fenster, to offer you evens, and l would not be surprized to hear Rupert has a bet on,”—he eyed Lord Rupert’s brother sardonically—“only it ain’t. I’ve ridden out with them every morning for the past week. and I’ll admit Aden’s been behavin’ like a dog with a bone, only it ain’t been over the delightful Alfreda.”

    “No?” he said faintly.

    Sir Noël was still in that very bad mood, and he was still not admitting it to himself. “No. The little Dark Star. Did you not see the way he rushed to the rescue when Curwellion was makin’ sheep’s eyes at her?”

    “What?” said Harpy in horror.

    Smiling maliciously, Sir Noël described the scene in full.

    “Any decent man would rescue an innocent child from the clutches of a man of his reputation, Noël!”

    “Oh, aye, I grant you. Well, would have, meself, if Aden had not been to hand. But that wasn’t only why he did it, Harpy: you mark my words.”

    Harpingdon did mark his words. He waited until Mr Tarlington’s fair charges were once again going down the dance and then drew him aside.

    “Glass of champagne, shall we?” said that gentleman, grinning. “Phew! Bein’ a chaperone is thirsty work! One has to see they dance with the proper gentlemen. and don’t dance with the improper ones, and don’t refuse the hopeless ones, and don’t dance too often with the proper ones, and that they come back to one afterwards, and don’t drink nothin’ but orgeat or lemonade, and don’t flirt too much and don’t sit out!”

    “I know,” said Harpy, smiling. “Very well, let us have a glass of champagne, then. But I—I would like to ask you something, Aden.”

    “Fire away.”

    “Er—not just here.”

    Mr Tarlington raised his eyebrows, but after they had provisioned themselves with champagne let Harpy draw him aside to a little sofa—from where they could still see Dimity dancing with Mr Shirley Rowbotham and Fliss with Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon. And, incidentally, Alfreda with Captain Dewesbury and Henry with Mr Lilywhite Minimus. Mr Tarlington’s eyes lingered on this last vignette, and a little smile hovered on his long mouth.

    “Aden, this—this is in strictest confidence.”

    “Mm? Oh—certainly.”

    “I— You know Papa wishes me to offer for Lady Jane Claveringham.”

    Mr Tarlington paled. ‘”Christian, for God’s sake don’t do it if you cannot care for the woman!”

    “No. Only—there is the name, and— But I shall not, if—if...”

    “If what?”

    Lord Harpingdon’s hand trembled a little as he raised his glass. “Aden, I thought I had noticed... Do you care for Miss Parker?” he said in a low voice.

    “What?”

    “I—I have seen her very often in your company, and I had thought... Do you care for each other?”

    “Good God: you mean Alfreda?” he said limply.

    “Yes.”

    Mr Tarlington drank off his champagne. “No, you damned idiot! How long have you been imagining this farrago?”

    “Almost since the first time I saw her. Something over a month, I suppose. And—and they are offering good odds at the clubs.”

    “Damn the clubs! I admire her very much, and I suppose I have driven her out some, and ridden out with her... Christian, you’re not seriously telling me you’ve been hanging back because you thought I had a prior claim?”

    “Not only that. I thought she—she affected you.”

    “She doesn’t. Don’t look at me like that, man: I’m not a greenhorn, and I’ve seen enough of her to be very sure that she does not. We are merely good friends. There’s no—well, no spark.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “That she don’t want me? Yes.”

    His cousin looked at him anxiously. “And your own feelings?”

    “No,” he said, frowning into his empty glass.

    “Aden—”

    “Oh, dammit,” he said with a sigh, “I suppose if I cannot tell you, then— It’s too soon, and she’s too young for me, and I should probably not even be thinking of it, but it isn’t Alfreda, dear boy: it’s Henrietta.”

    “Noël said he thought so,” said Harpingdon dazedly.

    Mr Tarlington sniffed. “Mm. Well, God knows he’s had enough experience not to be mistaken in such a matter. But I tell you what, dear old fellow, if you don’t want to see Alfreda as Noël’s aunt you had best make your move.”

    “Yes,” said Christian in a very faint voice.

    “Drink your champagne and buck up.”

    “What? Oh! Yes.” He drained his champagne, and shivered a little. “God, Aden. I’ve been so— I made sure you and she—”

    Mr Tarlington put a hard hand on his knee. “No, you damned fool. It’s been Henrietta all along—for months!” He gave a little laugh that cracked.

    “Months?”

    “Mm. It’s the most absurd story, Christian; and for God’s sake don’t repeat it: I was afraid that idiot, Rupert, might spread it all over town, but I don’t think it’s dawned!” He laughed a little, and in a very much lowered voice told Harpingdon the full story of that encounter on the road to Upper Beighnham. “Haven’t been able to get her out of my mind since,” he finished wryly.

    “I see! My dear fellow, this is excellent news! But you will have to wait until the dear little thing grows up a little, I think,” he said, smiling very much.

    “I know that. But I think she is beginning to—well, to see me as a human being, at least.”

    “I’m glad,” said Christian softly.

    The pair of dances had ended, and Mr Tarlington’s two young charges were approaching. “Go on, go off and dance with her, and the very best of luck, Christian!”

    “Thanks,” said Lord Harpingdon, getting up. “And—and—”

    “Go on,” he said in a bored voice.

    Lord Harpingdon held out his hand.

    Mr Tarlington looked very bored indeed, but he got up and shook it.

    “You could resign those two to your aunt, you know, Aden,” Harpy murmured.

    “Aye, but they’re so damned tickled to have me as their— Oh, get off with you!” he said, grinning.

    Laughing, Lord Harpingdon took himself off.

    “Aden,” began Fliss immediately, coming up to him with a shining face: “Captain Lord Vyvyan says there is champagne—”

    “No.”

    “I was not—”

    “No.”

    “Thought it might not be entirely ineligible if you was to give her a sip of yours,” said Captain Lord Vyvyan with a silly grin upon his wide face.

    “Oh, please, Aden!” cried Fliss.

    “After all, you are her brother,” agreed Mr Shirley Rowbotham, also with a silly grin on his face.

    “But you are not Miss Dimity’s, I believe?” he said awfully.

    “No,” admitted Dimity sadly. “I haven’t got a brother at all.”

    Mr Tarlington sighed loudly. “What are the quizzes going to say if I am to stand here lettin’ a young lady what is not all that nearly related to me sip out of my champagne glass? –Don’t look that, you pair of sillies, I’ve given in. Get off and fill the glasses, Vyv. Here, take this, you imbecile!”

    Eagerly Captain Lord Vyvyan took his empty glass and rushed off towards the champagne.

    “Oh, famous!” beamed Fliss. “Thank you so much, Aden!”

    “Oh, yes: thank you, Cousin Aden! I have never had a drink with bubbles in it before!” gasped Dimity.

    Mr Tarlington thought she had not. “You won’t like it.”

    “I am sure I shall!’

    “Remember when Ferdy smoked that cigar?” he said dreamily to his sister.

    “But cigars are smelly and disgusting!” she said in astonishment.

    He groaned, but on the gallant Guards officer’s return led them all into a little alcove.

    In the alcove a pink-faced Mr Edward Claveringham was discovered sitting on a small sofa with a pink-faced Miss Potter.

    “Get out,” said Mr Tarlington brutally. The pair vanished precipitately.

    Mr Tarlington held out his glass to Dimity. “One sip.”

    “Oh, thank you, Cousin Aden! Oh, how wonderful!” Dimity sipped. She gulped convulsively. “Oh,” she said dubiously, rubbing her nose. “Bubbles,” she said, smiling weakly.

    Mr Tarlington sniffed faintly. He held out the glass to his sister. “One small sip.”

    Fliss had a defiant look upon her face. She grasped the glass determinedly. She swallowed. She choked.

    Mr Tarlington snatched the glass away before it could fall.

    “That—cannot—be—champagne!” gasped Fliss.

    “It’s so sour,” said Dimity faintly.

    Mr Tarlington raised the glass to the crestfallen Captain Lord Vyvyan and Mr Shirley. “I know it’s so long ago that you’ve forgotten it,” he said sardonically. “But here’s to the memory of your first taste of wine.”

    Grinning sheepishly, the sophisticated pair of town beaux drank.

    Before the Gratton-Gordon ball Mrs Parker had spoken seriously to her dutiful eldest daughter—at the same time assuring her she knew she did not have to, the which had been the most telling, not to say most dreadful, part of the interview. So Miss Parker was now aware, generally, that her mamma wished her to encourage any eligible gentleman who might show an interest—the words “Mr Tobias Vane” had not been uttered but then they did not have to be—and, specifically, if the two charming gentlemen who had paid calls and brought Alfreda posies should be there, that her mamma wished her encourage Mr Bobby Amory and Mr Rowbotham.

    She was therefore very puzzled to find, immediately after Dimity’s dance with Mr Bobby, that Mamma apparently did not wish her to encourage him after all. It could not be his family that was the problem, for when Sir Noël Amory came up not long after and begged the honour, Mrs Parker not only beamed on him but also beamed when he danced with Henry. And again when he requested a second dance of Henry. So—so what had poor Mr Bobby done? Not that Alfreda wished to show him any particular encouragement, of course!

    And Mr Rowbotham, on the contrary, had done something, and if anybody should be shunned, surely it should be he? But no: Mrs Parker beamed on Mr Rowbotham more than ever, and was very gracious indeed when he led up his young brother to dance with Henry, and after his dance with Alfreda sat him down beside herself and asked him very many questions about his home and family. Being quite enchanted to discover who his older brother was. And of course one had heard of Flytterden, it was one of England’s great houses! She and her Cousin Maria had once proposed a visit—in their giddy youth!—but somehow it had never come off. Miss Maria Ogilvie was a grim spinster who lived with some very elderly relatives in a grim stone house in Scotland, which Alfreda could just remember visiting when she was a very little girl: she had looked at her mother in some amaze at this point: she could not imagine Cousin Maria ever having been giddy. Or anything like it.

    Alfreda, of course, had not needed reminding of her duty at all. But although she smiled politely upon Mr Rowbotham, and indeed upon all the other gentlemen who requested a dance, and even upon Mr Tobias Vane, who was trying out a new tea which he described to her very particularly, but also incomprehensibly, during their turn of the room, she was not very happy.

    Mrs Parker, however, was very happy, once she was over the shock of Aden’s speaking to her—it had not been only the content, but the manner, which had reminded her of the awful time when she had been a very young bride and had cut a lady in the district in which they had then lived, and dearest Simeon—who was never severe—had been very stern indeed with her. Alfreda had scarcely lacked for partners the whole evening, and soon it would be time to go to the supper room, and she was quite sure that an eligible gentleman would also ask to take her in to supper! And besides, she was looking so very lovely in her sapphire gauze with the matching satin ribbons... It was a pity she had no jewels to accompany the gown, but then, several ladies had complimented Mrs Parker on the delightful and refreshing simplicity of her eldest daughter’s appearance. And Mrs Parker could see for herself that several of the younger ladies present who were wearing expensive adornments presented a very tasteless appearance indeed: what with the brooches and the necklaces and the bracelets, not to say the sheaves of artificial flowers pinned on with the brooches, and appearing variously on the shoulder, the head, the bosom, or even, in the case of one dashing young lady in yellow, in the flounce at the hem. Lady Lavinia Dewesbury herself had commented favourably on Miss Parker’s appearance. so there you were!

    Mrs Parker, in short, was a trifle above herself, even in spite of Aden’s efforts, so at the approach of a very quiet-looking, slim, brown-haired gentleman in a coat which was not half so wonderful as the ones moulded sleekly to the manly form of Sir Noël Amory or the slim form of Mr Rowbotham, and a waistcoat which was entirely ordinary and did not sport one dangling fob, she murmured: “Perhaps Henry may take this gentleman, my love.”

    Alfreda said faintly: ‘‘I do not think he is coming our way, Mamma.”

    Henry leaned across her sister. “Yes, he is!”

    Mrs Parker did not immediately realize just who—or what—he was. It was only when Alfreda, smiling very much and blushing brightly as she greeted him, had made him known to her, then added: “Lord Harpingdon’s mamma is Lady Tarlington’s cousin, and also a distant connection of Papa’s,” and Henry put in helpfully: “Lady Blefford, Mamma,” that it dawned: it was not only a viscount, it was a viscount who was slated to become an earl!

    “Indeed, I think we may call ourselves cousins,” said Harpingdon with his lovely smile.

    “Yes: only I’ve forgotten what your Christian name is,” said Henry cheerfully.

    Mrs Parker directed an anguished look at her, for speaking so casually to a viscount.

    “Christian,” said the Viscount.

    Could he be slightly deaf? wondered Mrs Parker. Not that that could signify!

    “Yes; what is it?” asked her dreadful younger daughter.

    “Dearest—” murmured Miss Parker, again blushing brightly.

    This time the heightened colour registered with her mother. Goodness, did she affect him? wondered Mrs Parker. It would be of all things the most wonderful, if—

    “I’m sorry, Cousin Henrietta: I meant that my name is Christian Narrowmine!” said Viscount Harpingdon, laughing a little.

    Mrs Parker sagged limply. The next thing he would be saying he was married!

    “Oh!” said Henry with a loud laugh. “I’m so sorry! Well, shall we call you Cousin Christian?”

    “Please do, Cousin Henrietta,” he said, twinkling at her.

    “After all, we call Mr Tarlington Cousin Aden, now; it is the same relationship, is it not?” continued Henry.

    “Of course.”

    “The only thing is, does it follow that we have to call Captain Lord Rupert ‘Cousin Rupert’?”

    “Inevitably,” he replied solemnly.

    Henry gave a gurgle.

    “Henry!” gasped her mother in horror.

    “No, no, Mrs Parker: pray do not reproach her: Rupert would not mind: he is full of fun himself,” said Lord Harpingdon with his lovely smile. Mrs Parker did not believe a word of it. She nodded and smiled palely.

    The waltz struck up: the Viscount bowed and said: “I believe you do waltz, Miss Parker? May I beg the honour?”

    Alfreda blushed brightly again and let the Viscount lead her onto the floor.

    “Henry Parker,” said Mrs Parker grimly, sagging in her seat, “if you tell me now that he is married, I shall scream!”

    “Lord Harpingdon? Of course not!” said Henry in amazement.

    Mrs Parker shut her eyes for a moment.

    “Um—he’s a widower,” said Henry, now sounding uncomfortable.

    Mrs Parker’s eyes snapped open.

    “Um, I suppose he is quite old, Mamma. Only—only he is generally reckoned the very nicest man in London,” she said hopefully.

    “Oh?”

    “Yes. Cousin Aden is very fond of him. I think, really, he likes him better than Mr Rowbotham or Sir Noël Amory. Though he does not see as much of him, because Lord Harpingdon is not in town so much: he spends a good deal of time seeing to his estates.”

    “I see.”

    There was a short pause.

    “Was not that funny about his name? I should like to call him Cousin Christian, I think,” said Henry thoughtfully. “I haven’t spoken to him so very often, but he is the loveliest man, Mamma: he reminds me a little of Papa!” She beamed at her.

    Mrs Parker swallowed. An earl’s heir. Like Simeon.

    On the floor Christian had at first said very little. It was enough just to hold her. She had not said anything, either: could it be that she—? Eventually he murmured: “It seems like an age since we last had a dance, Miss Parker.”

    “Oh—yes!” agreed Alfreda, a trifle breathlessly.

    “And you are enjoying your stay in London?” he said somewhat lamely.

    Alfreda looked into his dark grey eyes and found herself unable to utter a conventional lie. “Not very much, to tell you the truth, Lord Harpingdon.”

    His heart beat very fast: he was unaware that he was clasping her fingers very tightly. “I see. Forgive me if—if this oversteps the mark, but it has seemed to me that you have not lacked for escorts, or—or indeed admirers.”

    “No,” said Alfreda in a shaking voice.

    There was a short pause.

    “I have known Wilfred Rowbotham for many years: he is all that is amiable,” he said in a low voice.

    Alfreda’s heart sank. Had he only asked her to dance in order to plead his friend’s case? “I am sure,” she said, looking down.

    He licked his lips. “Perhaps if I sent you as many posies as he,” he said in a shaking voice, “you might be persuaded to—to smile upon me?”

    “Oh!” she gasped. The sapphire eyes flew to his face.

    Christian Narrowmine flushed up very much. “Could you?”

    Alfreda also blushed and said in what was little more than a whisper: “I think I could—even without any posies, sir.”

    “I am very glad to hear it.”

    She was blushing and looking away again, but this time he did not think it was because she did not care for the topic to be pursued. He said with a laugh in his voice: “But be warned: that may not prevent my also sending you posies!”

    Alfreda looked up and laughed.

    “Could you bear that?” he said, twinkling.

    “l think I could!”

    “Splendid!” He twirled her round a corner. “And perhaps you would care to drive out with me? Are you engaged tomorrow?”

    “Well, not precisely. Though I have to admit it is the afternoon that Mr Tobias Vane sometimes calls.”

    “In that case, I shall call for you very early in the afternoon, Miss Parker, and drive you out for an ineligibly long time, returning you only once all danger is past!”

    Alfreda giggled guiltily. “Oh! Well, I must own— But he is such a worthy man, one should not make fun of him! Only I must confess I have become very tired of the subject of tea!”

    “So I should imagine. So will you?”

    “Oh! Yes, I should be delighted.”

    “That’s settled, then,” he said, smiling.

    Alfreda had a very odd feeling that it was. She looked shyly into his eyes and said: “Yes.”

    Their dance did not go unremarked. Lady Lavinia Dewesbury, for one, noticed with a sort of grim resignation that where Lord Harpingdon had appeared merely amused by the younger dark Parker girl, he appeared considerably more than that with Miss Parker in his arms. Mrs Gratton-Gordon, who disliked Lady Hubbel and was aware that her Ladyship was gracing her ball only in the hopes of snaring one of their Gratton-Gordon, Tarlington or Narrowmine connections for Lady May or Lady Sarah, most certainly remarked it with malicious pleasure, and could only be sorry that Lady Blefford was not also present tonight.

    And Lady Hubbel said with slow displeasure: “Who is that dark young woman with Harpingdon?”

    Lady Jane swallowed and was entirely incapable of speech.

    “It—it is Miss Parker, Mamma,” faltered Lady Sarah.

    Lady Hubbel raised her lorgnette. So it was.

    “She is so very pretty, and—and good—and I am sure he likes her, and who could not!” said Lady Jane in a rush, her cheeks suddenly burning.

    “What did you say?” she said in steely tones.

    “I beg your pardon, Mamma,” she gulped.

    Lady Hubbel’s lips tightened. She took a deep breath. It was quite some time before she managed to say: “And who is that young man whom you permitted to dance with May, whilst I was talking to Lady Ives, Jane?”

    “Mr Shirley Rowbotham, Mamma. Sir Cedric’s younger brother.”

    “I am aware of the composition of Sir Cedric’s family, thank you, Jane; there is no need to remind me of it.” She raised the lorgnette. “So that is the younger brother? Hm.”

    “There was some talk of Mr Shirley’s going into the Foreign Office, I believe,” said Jane weakly.

    The lorgnette was lowered. “Indeed? Sir Cedric, perhaps I need to remind you, Jane, has three hopeful boys of his own. I think we cannot look to his doing very much for Mr Shirley. –Sarah, here is Mr Tobias Vane; and this time, I desire you should make yourself pleasant to him!”

    “Yes, Mamma.”

    Mr Tobias Vane came up, bowed and suggested that Lady Sarah might like to take a turn about the room. Lady Sarah obediently went with him. He only wished to talk about Miss Parker, and tea, and she had known it would be so, for now that he had discovered she and Jane knew the Parker girls he would sometimes distinguish them in this manner. Sarah had no intention of revealing this to Mamma, however. Let her imagine that Mr Vane was going to lay his fat person and his fat purse at her feet for as long as possible, in fact!

    Lady May had suggested unaffectedly to Mr Shirley that a rescue operation might be in order for the supper dance. For poor Sarah and Jane had been sitting there at Mamma’s side with Mamma looking daggers at Lord Harpingdon because he did not ask Jane to dance, all evening! And forcing Mr Tobias Vane upon Sarah! Mr Shirley was a kind-hearted young man, and besides, not immune to Lady May’s huge sparkling hazel eyes, pink cheeks and sprightly manner: he agreed. Only how could it best be carried out? He felt they would need reinforcements! Giggling, Lady May agreed. And over there she had the very troops stationed in readiness!

    Directly the dance ended, then, they left the floor and joined up with Gwendolyn Dewesbury, Captain Dewesbury, Mr Ludo Parker and Mr Parker, all of whom were standing together in what might almost have been said to be a huddle, had not the proper Mr Parker been part of it. Of course it was all prearranged between Gwendolyn and May, though the innocent Mr Shirley did not realise it, and in a very short space of time he found himself dispatched, together with the amiable Quentin Dewesbury, to bow before Lady Jane and Lady Sarah. Mr Shirley got Sarah, which as she was the younger and the prettier was not too bad. But as she was also very shy, it was not too good, either.

    Meantime, Lady May having brazenly invited Mr Parker for the supper dance, they took the floor—though Theo knew he should not—smiling into each other’s eyes.

    Gwendolyn smiled naughtily and said: “Well, Mr Ludo, that is working out very well, is it not? Hurry, we had better dance: Mamma has her eye upon me and I shall be landed with some brainless fellow from Quentin’s regiment if we’re not quick about it!” Not unnaturally Ludo was highly flattered by this speech and took the floor with her, grinning.

    Lady Lavinia Dewesbury by this time, for she was not at all a stupid woman, had become quite aware of what was going on. She smiled a little grimly; but after all, Lady May was not her daughter, and she could see very plainly that there was nothing at all serious between Gwendolyn and the younger Mr Parker. And if those miserable older Claveringham girls were being given the chance to dance with two brainless but pleasant young men, so much the better! –One of the latter was of course her own son, but Lady Lavinia was as clear-sighted as she was intelligent.

    She turned to find her spouse at her elbow looking hopeful. “No, Sir Lionel, you will not make us particular by inviting the ‘twin stars’ to sup at our table,” she said heavily.

    He grinned. “Well, not alone. Would look a bit odd, eh? No, but I tell you what: poor little Miss Henrietta has got landed with that Quayle-Sturt lad: we might rescue her, eh? Well, let him tag along, too. And, then the little Golden Star has got Wilf Rowbotham: I think Miss Parker has ditched him in favour of Harpingdon. Dare say they might happy enough to join us, eh?”

    Lady Lavinia sighed. There was obviously nothing for it: one way or another Sir Lionel was going to sup with the twin stars this evening!

    “Meantime. we could have a hop, eh?” he said hopefully.

    “It is a waltz, not a—a hop! And I am wearing a train, for Heaven’s sake, Lionel: I am not here to— Oh, very well.” Lady Lavinia looped her train up and allowed the beaming baronet to whisk her onto the floor. He was very light on his feet for a man of his size, so it was not at all an unpleasant experience.

    Mrs Parker was very gratified indeed by the sight of Alfreda dancing a second dance—and the supper dance, too!—with Lord Harpingdon, and scarcely less so by the sight of Henry in the arms of Mr George Quayle-Sturt who would (probably) have his uncle’s fortune, and Dimity with Mr Rowbotham, who was exceedingly well-connected, where she was less so, and if he lacked fortune she did not, so really— In fact it would be extremely suitable, now she came to think of it! And Fliss also—though Mrs Parker was not concerned with the fate of Lady Tarlington’s daughter—was dancing with a handsome dark gentleman.

    When the dance came to an end she was somewhat less gratified to find herself left sitting by the wall while her charges appeared to be walking off to supper.

    “My dear Mrs Parker—”

    Mrs Parker jumped, and rose hurriedly.

    Graciously Lady Lavinia invited her to join them.

    Mrs Parker, very flurried, accepted. True, she had spoken to Lady Lavinia several times now; also true, she now realized that Henry and Alfreda rode out almost every morning with Lady Lavinia’s daughter on Lady Lavinia’s husband’s horses. But she had also now realized that Lady Lavinia was not only a Hammond but in fact the aunt of the present Marquis of Rockingham, and was quite overcome at being asked to form one of her party for supper.

    ... “All very well for some,” grumbled Captain Lord Rupert Narrowmine: he had been counting on the Golden Star for the supper dance.

    “Er—whom?” replied Mr Tarlington politely.

    “You may drop that,” he recommended.

    “Have Fliss,” suggested Mr Tarlington, grinning.

    “She appears to have got Harley Quayle-Sturt,” he replied grumpily. “Did not know he was even in town.”

    “Must be: he’s been dancin’ with Fliss.”

    “Why the Devil is you in such a good mood?”

    Mr Tarlington smiled a little and did not respond.

    “Well, it can’t be because of Miss Parker, because Harpy has danced these last two dances with her and is goin’ off to supper with her as we speak!”

    Mr Tarlington’s smile grew. “Can it not, indeed?”

    “Uh—eh?” he said. the jaw sagging.

    Mr Tarlington took his arm. “I very much fear, old chap, that if you have a bet on me with old Fenster—or with anyone else, for that matter—you are about to lose your money. Only don’t for the Lord’s sake breathe a word of it to a soul, as yet. Let the dear fellow at least have the time to pay his court in peace.”

    Lord Rupert gulped. “Christian seriously affects your Cousin Alfreda?”

    “Yes. Between us, Rupert.”

    “Oh, aye—of course! ...Good God! I had no notion!”

    “Nor I. But I am extremely glad. She is as kind as she is beautiful.”

    “Aye, well, I am sure she is.”

    “No: l mean it, Rupert,” he said, eyeing him steadily. “If Blefford should kick up a row, I should like to know you are firmly on Christian’s side in this.”

    “Oh, Lor’, he will, y’know! Well, sorry, old boy, I know they’re your connections, only… Hell, I hope I am many miles distant when Harpy tells Mamma, that’s all!”

    Mr Tarlington did not bother to point out that, since Lady Tarlington and Lady Blefford were cousins, the Parkers were also Rupert’s connections. “Coward. Come along, let’s relieve poor Harley Q.-S.: don’t think he knows what to do with Fliss, now that he has got her!”

    This was a vast exaggeration: Harley Quayle-Sturt was not often to be seen in town, possibly because his mamma was, but he was an extremely attractive gentleman who was a great hit with the ladies.

    “Relievin’ you, Lieutenant: you may get off to the mess, now,” said Mr Tarlington dismissively.

    Fliss gasped, but Mr Quayle-Sturt, who had been in Aden’s regiment until the death of his papa had necessitated his selling out in order to see to his family estates and the welfare and education of his brothers and sisters, or, perhaps more accurately, in order to shelter them as much as was humanly possible from his mamma’s grim régime, merely saluted smartly and returned: “Right you are, Major! Permission to take Ensign Tarlington, here, along with me!”

    Fliss giggled very much and said she was not an ensign, but she would come with him if he was very good. And they all went off to supper together, even Captain Lord Rupert starting to look very much more cheerful under the influence of Harley Quayle-Sturt’s joking manner.

    The Amorys had joined forces for supper: possibly because Sir Noël, who was still in that bad mood, had observed Mrs Parker’s changed attitude towards his uncle and was desirous of needling him about it. And possibly because Bobby was by now also in a bad mood and did not feel like taking any particular lady into supper.

    “You’ve had it, Bobby. Dare say that old screw, Fenster, would give me as much as fifty to one on you, were he to see that,” said the baronet, glancing significantly at Miss Parker and Lord Harpingdon with eyes for no-one but each other.

    “I would not have put her down as the sort to be attracted by a title,” he said bitterly.

    “Oh, a title and great wealth.” said Sir Noël drily.

    Mr Bobby scowled.

    “They say old Blefford is not well: dare say she fancies her chances of bein’ a countess before the year’s out.”

    “Is he that bad?” said Bobby with a flicker of interest.

    His nephew shrugged.

    Mr Bobby looked resentfully at Lord Harpingdon. “I grant you he is a decent fellow. but—”

    “Less than a quarter of your address: oh, quite. And that thing he’s wearing ain’t a coat. No, well, I think the mamma may have hinted her off you, as well, Bobby.”

    “Thank you, Noël, that was evident even to my poor intelligence; but why?”

    Sir Noël shrugged once more. “Dare say you did not remark it, but let’s say the conjunction of Curwellion with the little Dark Star”—Mr Bobby looked extremely startled—“was followed quickly by the separation of the two and the conjunction of Aden and his aunt. And—er—words was exchanged. Well, no, I would not think anything of it, either, Nunky dear,” he said as Bobby opened his mouth to protest,  “only I give you two guesses as to which kindly lady introduced Curwellion to little Miss H.P.”

    “Which cat would wish to make that sort of gratuitous mischief?” he said blankly.

    “Any number of ’em. No, well, name one lady present who has no reason to love the Miss Parkers, Bobby.”

    After a moment Mr Bobby’s jaw sagged. “That’s a trifle round-about-ish, even for Hermione!”

    “Dare say she could not for the moment think of a way to get at Miss Parker, so she took it out on the little sister. Strikes me as fairly typical of the female species in general.”

    “Y—” His uncle took another look at him. “What’s up with you?”

    “Nothing,” he said, frowning.

    “Look, where the Hell did you go when you deprived me of me own curricle without notice?”

    “None of your business.”

    Mr Bobby sighed. After a moment he said: “Well, that was a nice piece of mischief, but I don’t see how my name got dragged into— Oh.”

    “Mm-hm: Curwellion, the fair Hermione—not to say our gracious hostess—you! No doubt Aden told his aunt the full story while he was at it.”

    “Why drop me in it, curse him?”

    Sir Noel raised his eyebrows. “Made the story better? God, I don’t know, Bobby, but no-one but a provincial prude would have taken a blind bit of notice of your rôle in the story, I do know that! Well, for God’s sake, everybody has ’em!”

    “The papa is in Holy Orders,” he said, scowling.

    “Then you are best out of it, old chap. A country vicar for a pa-in-law? Would not do for you, Bobby, at all,” he said, shaking his head.

    Bobby drained his glass. “No doubt.”

    Noël bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

    “Aye, and you think it a famous joke!” he said bitterly.

    “No, truly I’m sorry. She is an admirable woman,” said his nephew on a glum note.

    “Yes. –Well, curse Aden! Why did he have to open his mouth?”

    Sir Noël hesitated. He was now sorry he had said anything. “Look, Bobby, I don’t honestly think it would have made any difference.”

    “No, for I cannot offer her an earldom! –No, very well,” he said heavily, “you don’t have to say it: it ain’t that, is it?”

    “No,” Noël agreed, looking at Harpingdon and Alfreda again. “I don’t think so, Bobby. Sorry I opened my big mouth, and so forth.”

    “Oh, get me another drink, for the Lord’s sake.”

    Sir Noel went off and returned in short order with a bottle. He refilled their glasses without speaking.

    Bobby drank deeply, and sighed. “Where did you go off to in such a hurry, Noël? My groom tells me one of the team was reshod: he thought he recognized the work of the blacksmith at the King’s Head, on the Brighton road.”

    “By God, your spies are everywhere,” he said, staring at him. “Did you ask Kettle what he may have found in my pockets, perchance? A silver spoon from the Guillyford Place table, mayhap?”

    “Imbecile,” he said gloomily. “Oh, that reminds me: avoid Hammond House.”—He was staring at the table-top and did not notice that his nephew flushed up.—“Lionel Dewesbury was sayin’ the Rockinghams are in town and that mad old cousin, Jerningham, is with ’em. Lionel swears he has had the watch of out of his pocket half a dozen times.”

    His nephew said nothing. After a moment Bobby, looking crestfallen, said: ”Oh. Sorry, Noël.”

    Sir Noël replied tightly: “That is all forgotten.”

    Bobby eyed him uneasily. The little lady who was now the Marchioness pf Rockingham had caused Noël considerable heartache, not so long ago. After a moment he said: “Seems neither of us has any luck with the ladies, dear boy.”

    “How true.” He got up and walked off.

    Some time after the supper, Mr Rowbotham, it having penetrated that although Mrs Parker was still inclined to smile on him, she was also inclined to fob him off onto the little Dark Star while she kept Miss Parker at her side chatting with dashed Harpy, was propping up a wall in quite Byronic fashion, glooming at the pair.

    Captain Lord Rupert Narrowmine, who had been trying for some time to get close to the Golden Star, but had failed miserably in the face of Mr Quayle-Sturt’s vastly superior tactics, came and joined him.

    “Harpy seems to have all the luck, tonight, hey?” he said, looking at his brother and Miss Parker with their heads together and Mrs Parker beaming at the pair of them.

    Mr Rowbotham gave him a jaundiced look.

    “The little Dark Star is free,” noted Lord Rupert kindly.

    “I ain’t interested in the infantry,” he said sourly.

    “No. –Funny,” he said, rubbing his nose, as Mr Ludo Parker, who had once more been dancing with Miss Dewesbury, returned Gwendolyn to her mamma, bowed, and rejoined his mamma and sisters.

    “What is?” said Wilfred morosely.

    “Eh? Oh! Little Miss Henrietta and her brother. Seeing ’em together reminds me of somethin’, but I cannot for the life of me tell what”!”

    Ludo and Henry were now sitting side by side, laughing and talking. Wilfred stared hard.

    “Well?” said Lord Rupert without hope.

    “Uh... mm. Dashed odd. Reminds me forcibly of them two young scoundrels we met with Aden when we was on the way to Noël’s.”

    “Eh?”

    “Eh?” echoed Sir Noël, appearing from behind a nearby pillar.

    “You remember. Noël: we told you about it,” said Mr Rowbotham.

    “Aye: Wilf, here, was convinced we was in danger of our lives from highwaymen,” said Lord Rupert, grinning broadly, “but—”

    “So was you!” said Wilfred hotly.

    “—But Aden perceived they were but a pair of children. Shot one of the horses: remember?” he said to Mr Rowbotham, grinning.

    He shuddered. “Aye, that’s right, so he did— No, wait! By God!” he said, staring at Henrietta.

    “It can’t be!” gulped Lord Rupert. also staring at Henrietta. “Not his own cousin!”

    “Eh? No, y’fool: he had never met ’em till they came to town!”

    “You is both become totally obscure, s’pose you realize that?” drawled Sir Noël.

    “The Dark Star!” said Mr Rowbotham excitedly, clutching at Sir Noël’s elegant sleeve.

    “Don’t do that; Weston did not slave over this coat for you to maul it, Wilf. What about the Dark Star?”

    “It’s her!” choked Mr Rowbotham. “By Gad! ’Tis; eh, Rupert?”

    Lord Rupert grinned slowly. “Aye. The ragamuffin on the pony, what shot Aden’s leader, poor brute.”

    “Absolutely!” gasped Mr Rowbotham, the eyes now bolting from his head.

    “What?” said Sir Noël faintly.

    “You remember, Noël!” said Lord Rupert, fiercely, grasping his Weston-clad other arm. “Pair of youngsters held us up on the way to your place—at least, they did not hold us up: their shotgun went off by accident and they got one of the nags. And Aden puts the lad, cool as you please, over his knee, only her hat falls off and we see it is not a lad at all!”

    Sir Noël’s eyebrows had risen very high. “Ah... Not a lad at all.”

    “Aden maintained he had known it was a girl all along, of course,” said Mr Rowbotham.

    Sir Noël’s long sherry-coloured eyes were beginning to sparkle maliciously. “Are you telling me that it was Miss Henrietta Parker and her brother who held you fools up on the road to my place?”

    “Not direct: when we got lost,” explained Mr Rowbotham.

    “Shut up, Wilf,” groaned Lord Rupert. “Aye, that was it, Noël! Never recognised her, in her gowns and curls, of course, until now. But it was her, all right and tight!”

    “Won’t do,” said Mr Rowbotham, shaking his head sadly. “Not the thing. Well, dare say she has grown out of it. Grown up, now.”

    “Now! It was less than six months back!” choked Lord Rupert.

    Sir Noël raised his quizzing glass and looked hard at Henrietta. “And—forgive me, but the details are not quite clear—Aden put the Dark Star over his knee?”

    “Oh, absolutely! Belted the livin’ daylights out of her, eh, Wilf?” said Lord Rupert with relish. “Did not stop once he saw she was a girl, neither!”

    “Well, she had gravely wounded the horse,” said Mr Rowbotham uncomfortably.

    “Oh. aye: that’s right. Aden had to put a pistol to the poor brute’s head, and then Wilf gets out of the coach, all danger bein’ past, and casts up his accounts!” Lord Rupert recollected ecstatically.

    “Anyone would have!” cried poor Mr Rowbotham. “I have not been in the Army like you fellows!”

    Ignoring this, Lord Rupert continued enthusiastically: “You should have seen her in her breeches, Noël! Bum up over Aden’s knee! There was never anything like it!”

    Sir Noël raised his quizzing glass again. “Bum up, you say, Rupert? By gad!”

    Promptly all three gentlemen collapsed in sniggers.

    Perhaps the story would not have got about so quickly had Sir Noël Amory not been in that very bad mood, had Captain Lord Rupert Narrowmine not been, besides naturally loose-tongued, disgruntled because of being unable to get close to the Dark Star’s cousin, and had Mr Rowbotham’s nose not been put thoroughly of joint by Harpingdon’s cutting him out with Alfreda.

    True, Mr Rowbotham, who was a good-hearted gentleman, did not repeat it at all. He only told his brother Shirley—and incidentally Mr “Val” Valentine, who was with him—in the strictest confidence.

   Captain Lord Rupert would probably have claimed not to have spread the story. either. And it was true that he mentioned it only in the strictest confidence, and only to Captain Sir Peter Wainwright, and you could not count him, dash it, he was in the regiment! And incidentally to Quentin Dewesbury and Major Burton, who happened to be present at the time, but they was all splendid fellows!

    Sir Noël, on the other hand, roped his Uncle Bobby into a quartet for whist with himself, Lord Curwellion, and Lady Michael Gratton-Gordon, and very deliberately told them the whole. Lady Michael particularly appreciated it: besides being a close friend of Hermione, Lady Hethersett, she had an unmarried sister who last Season had had definite hopes of Aden Tarlington which had come to naught. Curwellion, though he had accepted with a certain resigned amusement Mr Tarlington’s springing to the rescue of his little cousin, nevertheless laughed so much he choked and had to recover himself with a glass of brandy. There was thus no doubt whatsoever that White’s would have the story by afternoon tomorrow.

    But the story might have remained, at least for some little time, with the gentlemen who haunted the clubs and the sort of lady who played cards for money with the gentlemen who haunted the clubs, had it not been for the prevalence of pillars and wall embrasures in the Gratton-Gordon ballroom. Lady Hubbel had paused behind a nearby pillar, and in the shelter of an embrasure, to inspect her train, which some clumsy foot had trodden on, at approximately the moment that Mr Rowbotham had mentioned the Dark Star and clutched at Sir Noël’s sleeve. Since none of the three gentlemen had noticed her presence, she had remained there, listening. Up until the sniggers.

    During the last few dances of the Gratton-Gordon ball Mrs Parker became uneasily aware of strange glances being directed at their little party. Additionally, certain gentlemen who were not the sort of gentlemen who normally paid court to little débutantes at all came up and solicited Henry’s hand, but fortunately Mr Tarlington had joined his aunt and cousins, and fended them off, with a very frosty look in his eye. Mr George Quayle-Sturt, whose attentions to Henrietta had become most marked, did not approach her again that evening and Mrs Parker fancied, indeed, she had seen his mamma, with darkling looks in their direction, dragging him forcibly from the ballroom. Well, that was perhaps too strong a phrase... Mrs Parker began uneasily to wonder what mischief Henry might have been up to—but dearest Alfreda had assured her that Henry was behaving impeccably in London! Finally, becoming aware that Lord Harpingdon’s continuing to spend time with their party was receiving some very frosty looks indeed, she decided that that was it: they were jealous because the Viscount was paying such marked attentions to Alfreda! Well! That could be nothing but a good sign!

Next chapter:

https://theogilvieconnection.blogspot.com/2022/09/in-eclipse.html