Revelry By Night

38

Revelry By Night

    The big ballroom at Daynesford Place glittered with a myriad candles, all the gilding, as Carolyn had reported to the ladies from the Manor in awed tones, having been washed—not merely dusted but actually washed—for the occasion, as had that in the state apartments, which her half-brother had opened up to shelter his very exalted guests; the said candles shone o’er fair women and brave men—if not quite a thousand souls, it certainly felt like it—and music had most certainly arisen with its voluptuous swell, the musicians from Ditterminster, immensely gratified to have been asked to perform at the Place after a gap of so many years that some in the group were too young to recall the last time, playing, indeed, their hearts out. And certain persons present had had time to reflect silently that it was to be hoped that this “sound of revelry by night” was not to be followed, like the more famous one, by a near-catastrophe. Especially in view of the guest list.

    “Your Grace,” said the Marquis with a strange little smile hovering on his lips: “may I present Miss Ainsley? Miss Ainsley, I have the honour to present to you his Grace the Duke of Wellington.”

    Gaetana had spent most of the period since the date of Jake’s wedding in a state of dizzy bewilderment. As each day passed and the Ainsleys and their Spanish relatives appeared to take it entirely for granted that the entertainments planned for the festive season would include the Marquis of Rockingham, the dizziness had increased.

    The speed at which other matters had moved had not precisely helped, either. Certainly Mrs Maddern had had strong hysterics on being faced by Tom and Hal with Hal’s decision about an early wedding, but with Paul’s and Marinela’s help she had become reconciled to it and but one day later had not only declared unequivocally that it should be the first Saturday in March, but had finalized also the date of Paul’s and Christabel’s nuptials and, her list having long since been drawn up, had immediately commenced dispatching the wedding invitations. The third week of March. And Amabel’s would be the third week of April. Which would leave her and Hildy plenty of time to be ready to remove to the town house in the last week of April for the Season. And dear Gaetana, of course, of course: she must not think that she had been forgotten! And Luís, too: yes, naturally! And it would all fit in excellently well, for they might move out of their old house in late January, thus escaping the February winds that made its chimneys smoke so, and have all in readiness for Christa’s nuptials in plenty of time. What, a full six weeks? Of course that was plenty of time! And there would be nothing at all to do for Hal’s wedding but mount into their carriage and go, and it was but a day’s drive! She would draw up a list immediately of those of their relatives who must not be overlooked. And did the girls not think, that if the carriage were sent to poor old Cousin Sibylla Maddern for Hal’s wedding, she might well spend the intervening period until Amabel’s at the dower house with them? For she would not care to undertake two journeys, at her age. And then, dear Uncle Hildebrand might likewise stay the fortnight between Hal’s and Christa’s at the Manor, and really, it would be only sensible for him, also, to stay on for Amabel’s, and did not dear Liam O’Flynn have an elderly aunt—or was it a cousin, never mind—an elderly relation in Bath? She must come for Christa’s wedding and stay the month, too!

    Gaetana was not the only one to feel overtaken by the speed of events: the girls could only nod numbly. In the intervals of making all these decisions, Mrs Maddern was, of course, busy overseeing Berthe’s Christmas preparations and finalizing invitations for the big party that in her dearest uncle’s day had been traditional at the Manor—and no, Harry had it all wrong, of course it did not take place on Boxing Day: that was the servants’ traditional day of celebration, but the twenty-eighth! And they must see to it that an ox was slaughtered and roasted just as Harry’s papa had always had it! After a little puzzling her relatives had realized that the ox was for the servants.

    Christmas Day, Boxing Day with its ox, and the twenty-eighth with its big party had duly come and gone. As had innumerable other celebrations, from an hilarious Indian dinner at The Towers before the Kernohan brothers left, through a much more formal affair given jointly at The Hammond Arms by Messrs Fanshawe and Makepeace, to a terrifyingly stiff afternoon reception at the Deanery; and from large and informal dinners at The Towers, Sir Clinton Gerrity’s and the Manor itself to a rout party of stultifying respectability and dullness at Holmden House, the chief guests being the Purdues and her brother the Bishop. From which Hildy declared herself still not recovered, the more so as, Mr Prissy having discovered she read Greek, he had spent the better part of the evening sitting with her and young Mr Gerrity, gravely discussing a translation he was preparing of a sufficiently obscure text. For although he was in orders and could have rested on his laurels, he did feel that having left the university was no excuse for letting one’s studies immediately lapse. –The Bishop’s wife, though she herself could not approve of Greek for young women, had kindly condescended to drop a hint into the astounded Mrs Maddern’s ear as to the entire suitability and excellent prospects of Mr Prissy.

    In between all these excitements there had of course been hunting parties and shooting parties. And the waits had come, and had entertained with carols, both played and sung, and been entertained with hot negus and mince tarts, the twins, although they had not performed, also partaking readily of this refreshment; and the house party at the Manor had played at their uniquely multilingual form of charades, Sir Harry’s costume being unanimously been voted the best: for in his rôle as the Beast (La Belle et la bête: the desired syllable being “belle” and their entire word being “bellows”) he had found a bearskin rug and draped his body in it, his head being hidden by a brass coal scuttle, which had given the most terrifying effect, even if not perhaps true to the original conception of the character. And Maria as La Belle had caused the older ladies present to sniff a little into their handkerchiefs, so sweetly charming was she in a long white nightgown of her mamma’s, Gaetana’s white lace mantilla, and a circlet of flowers for which, it was to be feared, they had raided John Pringle’s conservatory. Plus her medallion. Oddly enough, the Marquis of Rockingham, present on this occasion as he had been on most of the others, had also had to blow his nose rather hard.

    Up until this evening the Place itself had not entertained the district formally, though its house party had certainly convened, including such notables as old Cousin Philomena, if not with “bats as big as sheep in her belfry”, as was Sir Lionel Dewesbury’s claim, certainly with a large, elaborate grey wig under her voluminous cap, and her own footman, almost as ancient as she, in constant attendance with a little salver bearing her very own cup, her very own glass, and her very own spoon, for she would not drink out of glassware or china of her host’s providing; and the almost equally odd Cousin Bellamy Throgmorton (not a Hammond relation, as Lady Lavinia might more than once have been heard to explain with frank relief in her voice), a very short, thin man who dressed entirely in black apart from his linen, held strong beliefs about the influence of the heavenly bodies upon human fate and behaviour, and refused all red meats—the latter behaviour being nicely calculated to drive his robust host to desperation.

    Lady Welling had also arrived and very fortunately Cousin Philomena was able to sympathize genuinely with her over the loss of Frederick the Fourth. For it was to be feared no-one else was.

    Some of the odd-fellows had disappeared between Christmas and the New Year, for their host had not scrupled to tell them their rooms would be wanted. But Lady Welling and Cousin Bellamy Throgmorton were still there, still in their blacks, as were old Peregrine Jerningham in his skirted coats and frilly neckcloths, and Cousin Philomena in her old-fashioned wig and cap: an odd quartet to greet the exalted company who began to arrive on the thirtieth of December in order to spend the New Year period at the Place.

    The Marquis of Rockingham had not gone quite so far as to invite Prinny at a rather short notice—though as Sir Lionel noted mournfully, it was a dashed pity, for he would have enjoyed the music. But the Duke of York was most certainly present. Probably in search of deep play, as Sir Lionel did not scruple to note, and by the by, you boys (Don Carlos, Mr Luís and Lord Welling) were to stay well clear of that gang, and if he (Sir Lionel) caught you within sniffin’ distance of a card while York and that damned Captain Sharp who hung on his sleeve were in the house, he (Sir Lionel) would have your guts for garters! Lord Welling had started to look indignant, for his behaviour over the entire Christmas period had been exemplary: he had not played for money, he had not drunk too much (as had happened on a previous occasion at the Place, alas), and he had even played piquet for buttons with old Cousin Philomena, who always blatantly cheated! But seeing Carlos and Luís grin and assure Sir Lionel they were not such gudgeons, he smiled, also, and assured him likewise. Sir Lionel, of course, being very much sharper than his manner led such as Welling to assume, strolled off very satisfied, and informed the Marquis that it hadn’t been a bad idea giving young Carlos that little house: the boy was an influence for good, in his opinion.

    Sir Lionel and Lady Lavinia had not, it might be remembered, originally intentioned staying on for the New Year. However, on receiving an excited letter from Carolyn reporting that Giles was opening up the state apartments and who was to be of the company, and a very brief missive from Rockingham himself asking them if they would care to stay on, they had changed their minds. At least, Lady Lavinia had graciously condescended to change hers, and Sir Lionel had noted cheerfully that wild horses could not have dragged him away, and she could call it vulgar curiosity if she liked, but he was stayin’!

    The Duke of Wellington must have been ranked as the second most important guest to His Royal Highness—second in consequence though not in esteem nor accomplishment, as Sir Lionel remarked in his spouse’s ear, earning himself a majestic glare; and after him very definitely Lord and Lady Hubbel, Lady Georgina Claveringham, and Lord and Lady Sefton. Lady Georgina rarely visited outside the circle of her intimates, so it was a mystery what had got her to Daynesford Place. Perhaps the offer to house both the monkey and the five black footmen, for they were most certainly all with her; and the mild eccentricities of Cousin Philomena faded into insignificance. Lady Georgina, who was a tiny woman, also wore a wig, but it was a wig of a startling shiny blackness, in a most modish arrangement of little ringlets and curls. And her cap was not one of the balloon-like arrangements of the last century but a wisp of very beautiful Valenciennes, trimmed with ribands. Her gowns were as frivolous as her headgear: on her first night down to dinner the company was gratified by the spectacle of lilac velvet, very low over the thin bosom, with some very fine emeralds above it. And above them the wrinkled little face which resembled nothing so much as her own monkey’s, though carefully and artistically painted. And patched, the one visible anachronism in her modish appearance.

    The Marquis had spoken a few hard words to his half-sister and niece, and in fact the two young ladies had not seen very much of the party from the Manor in the past weeks, and as Sir Harry and Paul were both entirely capable of keeping their counsels, the roll of guests at the Marquis’s New Year’s ball came upon Gaetana like a thunderclap.

    It was overwhelming enough to have to make her curtsey to His Royal Highness the Duke of York, who looked upon her very kindly indeed and said he was glad to see Harry’s little girl, and by Jove, she reminded him of her grandfather! He meant her great-grandfather, but Gaetana did not correct him. And this was her little cousin? Why, one would say they were twins, how entirely enchanting! Kissing Hildy’s hand with perhaps more eagerness than kindly condescension apparent in his manner.

    But then hard upon that to have to make her curtsey to the Duke of Wellington! It was no wonder that she looked up into the rather hard face with its famous high-bridged nose in a state of dizzier bewilderment than ever. Half fearful he would refuse to recognise her, half— She did not know what.

    His Grace the Duke of Wellington was well known in certain circles, though perhaps not precisely those in which Mrs Maddern had been careful to see her daughters and niece moved, for his amiable manner to the softer sex. Far from refusing with contumely to be introduced to the daughter of a spy, he beamed upon Gaetana, kissed her hand, professed himself entirely delighted, added with a roguish and not entirely avuncular twinkle that he dared swear she would break an hundred hearts tonight, and passed on to her cousins with a cheerful smile and a lighter version of the famous barking laugh.

    Overcome though she was, however, Gaetana could not but see that the ball, and indeed the entire house party—for even setting aside his political differences with His Grace of Wellington, it was sufficiently well known in polite society that the Marquis of Rockingham had little time for the Duke of York—had no other purpose than to demonstrate to her the entire acceptability in the highest circles of her rascally papa.

    The Marquis was still performing introductions, and Wellington, all affability, was at the moment absorbed with the former Patty Ainsley in recalling old acquaintance; Gaetana went off quietly and found a seat by the wall. From here, coincidentally, she got a view of His Royal Highness, who had now been introduced to all the new arrivals, conversing with Sir Harry with immense amiability. Indeed, much slapping of shoulders was taking place, accompanied by the sorts of roars of laughter that not uncommonly result when middle-aged gentlemen recall together the exploits of their youth. Gaetana was conscious of a strong wish that Harry was sufficiently in control of his reminiscent vein to recall only those exploits which had taken place in England. Under a suitable flag.

    As to how she herself felt about all this— Well, she was too flurried and too dizzy and too bewildered by the speed of events to decide how she felt at all. Except to know that she felt flurried and dizzy and bewildered. She could not even recall precisely what she had said to Giles Hammond, as opposed to what she had secretly decided must be her course of action, or as opposed again to what she had revealed to Hildy. Had she—had she set any conditions—had she suggested an “if”? It did not seem to Gaetana, at this moment, that she had. Yet—yet here he was, acting as if she had done so, and as if he was proving to her what—what had to be proven! But... had it not been he himself who had put forward that “if”? ...Oh, dear. And of course, however many horrid royal dukes or great generals or maréchaux de— No, no, not maréchaux de, of course! However many personalities from the highest circles the Marquis of Rockingham might trot out for her benefit, it was quite clear that the fundamental situation had not changed. Nothing could change what Harry had done. And Gaetana knew in her heart of hearts that whatever her father might now be claiming, there had been a time when he had been very much on the side of the petit caporal. ...Oh, dear.

    On the other hand, was the point at issue after all, as the Marquis seemed to be assuming, merely the acceptability of her family and herself in the eyes of polite society? Well, if it was, then he had proven his point, and—and— Gaetana’s mind shied away from that.

    But fundamentally, of course, that was not the point at all! It was a moral issue, and— Here Gaetana suddenly felt perilously near tears, and the myriad of candles dazzled more than ever as she blinked fiercely.

    What would a young woman of truly moral principle do? ...Oh, dear, indeed. Gaetana had a strong feeling that such a truly principled young woman as—as say, Elinor Dashwood, would most certainly feel that the moral issue had not been resolved and would stand by her principles and... Well, she was absolutely sure that Elinor Dashwood would not have allowed herself to be swayed on such an issue as this by a demonstration of the—the laxity of moral fibre in polite society! For that was all it amounted to, really: all these horrid people—yes, including the Duke of Wellington, great general or not—had fallen over themselves to accept an invitation to the reopening of one of England’s great houses, issued by one of the richest men in the country, who was known for his fastidiousness and—and choosiness as to whom he cared to invite to his principal seat! He had not proven anything at all, except that there was no morality in fashionable circles in modern life, something of which Gaetana was very well aware, thank you!

    Those candles were dazzling again; she blinked again, and did not pause to reflect, even though she herself had been secretly in sympathy with Marianne Dashwood throughout the book, that perhaps the Lady of Quality and genius who had created the Miss Dashwoods had, as possibly her chosen title indicated, intended Elinor’s determined and self-effacing propriety to be just slightly questioned by the reader as well as her sister’s indulgence of her feelings. Nor did she reflect that her own continued intransigence would result in the causing of Giles Hammond extreme pain. Though she was aware that it would cause pain to herself.

    But—to give in, under such circumstances? To admit that mere social forms were all and morality nothing but what could be manipulated by a rich man? Suddenly Gaetana’s cheeks burned, and she wished heartily she was dead. And a million miles away from Daynesford Place and its empty revelry.

    Introductions were over, and the company was separating into little chatting groups, the musicians playing quietly as an accompaniment to the talk, and M. Girardon was able to draw his wife a little apart and, looking over at the pretty girl in palest green gauze on her solitary gilded chair against the wall, say in her ear: “Ma chérie, tu crois que ça marche?”

    Mme Girardon replied very quietly in the same language: “No, my dear, I am afraid I do not think it is working. I wish Giles had taken my advice and had a very much smaller party. I fear all this lavish display, not to say the presence of a certain royal personage, may have resulted only in disgusting the girl, and putting her back up.”

    M. Girardon assented gloomily. Adding sadly they should have come over earlier, for perhaps Anne’s presence could have stopped her son, where a mere letter had not been able to.

    “I do not think so, my dear: when Giles has the bit between his teeth he is unstoppable. In that,” she said with a sigh, “he is very like his father. Though I beg you will not tell him I said so.”

    The amiable Jean-Pierre assured her hurriedly that of course he should not dream of it!

    The two were now joined by Mme Girardon’s brother, that Mr Throgmorton who had originally introduced them, and he made very much the same comment as Jean-Pierre had just done, and received the same answer. He looked gloomy, but said to his sister: “Have you spoken to her mamma?”

    “Well, not yet, we have only just been introduced!” said Anne with a tiny laugh. “But I most certainly mean to call, and then of course we shall discuss it. My dear, did I tell you of the lovely letter she wrote Giles?”—Mr Throgmorton shook his head.—“He, of course, tackled the matter in his usual bull-at-a-gate fashion,”—Mr Throgmorton and M. Girardon both duly winced—“but she wrote such a kind reply! Assuring him that, though she had heard nothing of it from the girl herself, her eldest son had assured her that Giles’s feelings were reciprocated, and that once she had seen for herself it were so, she would do all in her power to ensure a happy outcome. And not neglecting to add, in the most tactful way in the world, that of course the scruples that Giles had dismissed—in his usual off-hand manner, I make no doubt—were not nonsensical at ail, but on the contrary very real, and that Giles must be aware that he was, indeed, proposing to ally himself with a family whose head had not only spied for the wrong side, but also fought on that side at one point.” –This was all said in a very lowered voice, and still in French. Which her two hearers could not but consider was just as well

    “My God,” said Hugh Throgmorton numbly in English.

    “Ssh!” said Anne, glaring at him.

    “Je te demande pardon, ma chère soeur,” he said, switching back to French. “I had not thought it had gone that far. Is it known, at all?”

    Anne looked dry. “I have no notion. But I imagine monseigneur le duc”—they did not make the mistake of thinking she meant York—“can keep his counsel. That bluff amiability is naught but a screen, I am very sure.”

    “Yes, although politically—” began M. Girardon.

    “He is a simpleton: yes, so you and Giles both maintain,” she said calmly. “That does not mean that where his own profession is concerned, he is not entirely astute. –Well, I think we had best say no more,” she added with a smile, switching to English. “Come and talk to Mrs Maddern, my dear Hugh: do you remember her at all?”

    Hugh Throgmorton did not remember her: they were not quite the same generation and besides, in Giles’s grandfather’s day the Place had socialized very little in the district. Henry Hammond had most certainly been very high in the instep. And a Purdue would not have set foot in the Place in his day. And, it was to be feared, certain persons had secretly rejoiced on perceiving that one had not done so tonight, either.

    “Well!” said Mrs Urqhart, retreating on her son’s arm to a seat by Ned and his daughter with a highly gratified expression on her face. “Did you see that? Me a-talkin’ to the Hero of Waterloo!”

    “Indeed we did, Aunt Betsy,” said Johanna, smiling. “Is he not all that is amiable? He arrived yesterday, and has been most charming and friendly to all the company, from the Marquis’s rather odd old cousins, to—well, to Papa and myself!” she ended with a chuckle.

    “Aye, his company manners are all that is agreeable,” said Sir Ned calmly.

    “You!” retorted his old friend indignantly.

    “What, ‘I’?” he replied smoothly.

    Mrs Urqhart’s bosom swelled. “He said as he knowed you well! And you never breathed a word!”

    “Mother, I did try to—” began Timothy.

    “I thought you was pullin’ my leg!”

    Ned had to swallow. “I’m sorry, Betsy. If I had thought— But I had no notion at all that the Marquis intended inviting His Grace. But really, we have just met in the way of business, and—”

    “Boots. Only he don’t play cards with all the Army’s suppliers, or my name ain’t Betsy Urqhart!”

    It was true that one of the many enterprises in which Ned had an interest supplied the Army with boots. In his opinion Wellington had not seen to it that his troops were well supplied in that regard. He merely smiled apologetically, however, and said: “Well, yes, boots. And I have once or twice played cards with him.”

    Mrs Urqhart sighed deeply. After a moment she added: “He has got something, nose and all.”

    “Well, yes, my dear: he is a master strategist and a great leader of men,” said Sir Ned quietly.

    “That ain’t what I mean, you gaby!” she hissed.

    “Er—no. Hush, Mamma,” said Timothy uneasily.

    “Lady Sefton herself said to me he is most liked by the ladies!” she retorted immediately. “And here, Jo, she tells me you may have vouchers for Almack’s whenever you wishes!” she added, beaming. “Though from what Hildy and Gaetana was sayin’ it must be the dullest place in London. Hows’ever, if you wants to be all the crack, you has to go there. And it was decent of the woman. What sort of a lord is he?”

    Ned explained, without the slightest sign of surprize or criticism about him, and added quietly that he had known Lady Sefton for some time, and that she was an admirable woman.

    “Aye, well, unlike some,” she noted mildly, handing Tim her fan. Today it was the silver lace one set with sapphires, and clearly her son’s representations must have prevailed with her in the matter of dress, for though she was exceeding grand, in velvet with a demi-train, open over a heavily embroidered satin underdress, the velvet was a soft grey-blue and the underdress white with the embroidery being of tiny seed pearls and crystal beads, with here and there a minute sapphire as the centre of a flower. And all her jewels were sapphires except for her magnificent rope of pearls. The which Lady Sefton herself had admired with awe in her voice.

    Timothy began to fan her slowly and she began to demand of Ned who the notables were. Her reaction to Lady Georgina Claveringham, in ruched and puffed gold satin slashed with emerald, and accompanied by one of the black footmen and the monkey, both in matching gold satin suits, was an awed “Lord.” For which none of them could blame her, more especially since, as Ned assured her with a twinkle in his long blue eyes, the extraordinarily fine diamond tiara on her Ladyship the Dowager’s shiny black wig formed part of the Claveringham family jewels. And should therefore more properly have been worn by the current Lady Hubbel.

    Other ladies’ garments paled into insignificance after Lady Georgina, of course, though her daughter-in-law in magenta silk was pronounced to be “Very fine, if cold-lookin’, and if I did not know as that boy Lucas had an unhappy home, I would ’a’ guessed it the minute I set eyes on her.” Lady Lavinia Dewesbury in silver and lilac with diamonds was found to be extra-smart and the lady to whom she was speaking at this minute, in bronze silk with a black plume held with a diamond and topaz clip in her hair, was pronounced to be as elegant a one as she had ever set eyes on. And who was she? She had a familiar look to her.

    Johanna replied in a voice that quivered a trifle that it was Mrs Hallam.

    “What?” she gasped.

    Jo gulped. “Yes. He has invited the Hallams with their eldest daughter and also their niece Miss Geraldine.”

    Mrs Urqhart choked. After which she looked round wildly.

    “Over there,” murmured Ned wryly.

    Sure enough, by one of the swagged pillars on the far side of the room, Sir Julian Naseby, stunningly elegant, could be observed conversing with his own mamma, graceful in dove-grey satin trimmed with heavy lace, and two young damsels in white muslin, the one with a head of rioting dark ringlets that Mrs Urqhart instantly recognized, and the other with light brown curls, most becomingly arranged, and a very elegant profile.

    “I would say,” she said, peering, “that the other one’s the more ladylike of the two. That is the cousin, is it, Jo? –Aye. Strange he don’t favour her. Though that Miss Gerry is a pretty piece. I wish I could see better: now, do it appear to you as the little cousin has just the same sort of elegance as his ma?”

    “You will have to set up a lorgnette, Betsy, if you come much more into Society,” replied Ned calmly.

    Mrs Urqhart grinned, but ceased to peer. She then begged Ned to identify them uniforms, but he could not tell her what they all were, though a couple of gallant young hussars were instantly identifiable as such, and he knew that one of them was Quentin Dewesbury, Susan’s older brother. And the very handsome older officer talking with his Grace of Wellington? That was the dress uniform of a general, Betsy, my dear, and did you not meet him in Bath? Mrs Urqhart looked blank. Smiling a little, Ned revealed it was General Sir Francis Kernohan.

    She gulped. “What, not the Major’s uncle? Is he a-stayin’ in the house?”

    “Indeed,” he murmured. “For a short period only; I believe he will leave when Wellington does.”

    “Well, is his nevvies here?” she demanded tersely.

    “Not in the house-party, no.” He met her fulminating eye. “Well, I have not myself met them, Betsy!” he reminded her with a laugh. “But Mlle Girardon mentioned they have been invited to the ball.”

    Mrs Urqhart peered round the room again, ignoring Timothy’s faint protest and Jo’s bright blush.

    Youth and pleasure had met to chase the glowing hours with flying feet, and if joy was not precisely unconfined, nevertheless the majority of the participants seemed to be enjoying themselves.

    His Royal Highness the Duke of York, duty nobly done by having led out first Mme Girardon, as the Marquis’s mamma, next Lady Georgina, and then the Countesses of Sefton and Hubbel, had retired thankfully to the card room with several of his cronies and, it was to be feared, Sir Lionel Dewesbury, who had not taken his own good advice.

    The other duke had performed even more notably, honouring first Lady Lavinia, then several older titled ladies, before taking a breather, and following that up with a waltz with a much prettier and somewhat younger married lady who appeared to enjoy the honour as much as he did by conferring it. The which change of pace introduced a series of what His Grace referred to unaffectedly as “splendid hops” with several younger ladies. Those whom he had not so honoured, such as Lady Jane Claveringham, the younger Miss Madderns; Miss Girardon, Miss Charleson, and little Anna Hobbs, looking on with, depending on their ages, social status and the reflections which their mirrors shewed to them, any of a number of emotions, ranging from green envy through wistful admiration to downright relief.

    Miss Maddern, glorious in the sapphire-blue Indian muslin with the pink and turquoise flowers and butterflies, and of course her sapphires, tonight the full set, for after all, her mamma had declared, it was a great occasion at a great house and she was an engaged young woman now, was one of the young ladies who had been honoured. When she returned some little time later to a seat by her sisters, Muzzie, Anna and Lady Jane, their young neighbour immediately breathed with huge round eyes: “Oh, my dear Miss Maddern: what was it like?”

    Miss Maddern looked at her in amusement. “Dear Muzzie, I thought we had agreed you must call me Christabel?”

    Muzzie, in front of the very proper Lady Jane—she who, be it noted, had so misguidedly let herself be lured into the conservatory of a certain well-known royal personage well within living memory—blushed brightly and nodded, whispering: “Of course: Christabel.”

    “I collect you mean the dance with His Grace of Wellington,” went on Miss Maddern, “not the one I have just enjoyed with Captain Dewesbury?”—Muzzie nodded wordlessly.—“What can I say?” she said with a little laugh. “It was most enjoyable. His Grace is a gentleman who knows how to make himself pleasant to a young woman.”

    “Yes, but Christa,” said Hildy, giving in entirely and leaning forward eagerly: “what did he talk of?”

    Miss Maddern looked at the assembled excited faces in considerable dry amusement. “Well, my dears, not of Waterloo or of political topics: he is not the sort of man who cares for that sort of matter to be introduced by a young woman. What, did you expect him to explain his tactics at Waterloo to me, Hildy?” she said with a little laugh, as Hildy’s face fell.

    “I would have asked him!” she declared.

    “I dare say you would. But possibly,” said Miss Maddern with a little smile which her annoyed sisters and friends could not but characterise as smug, “that is why he requested a dance from myself, and not from you.”

    After a moment in which Hildy bit her lip and tried not to laugh, and the very proper Lady Jane looked most disconcerted, Amabel said kindly: “Well, if Hildy would have been unwise enough to introduce such a topic, I am very sure you would not, dear Lady Jane!”

    “No. But I am not pretty enough to attract favourable notice from His Grace,” she said sadly. “And I have not the—the vivacity which characterizes the members of your family, dear Miss Amabel.”

    Even although she did not know her very well, Amabel squeezed her hand. “That is silly, my dear. Of course you are pretty. And very elegant.”

    Lady Jane blinked a little. “Thank you, dear Miss Amabel.”

    “Yes,” said Anna eagerly: “indeed you are most elegant! But you are right in that the Miss Madderns are very lively.”

    “Yes,” chimed in Muzzie: “and Miss Ainsley, also. It is such fun at their house: you have no notion, Lady Jane!”

    Lady Jane gave a wan little smile. “So my dear brother Lucas informs me. He was so happy when he stayed in the district. And he had positively a wondrous time, it is not too strong a word, at kind Mrs Urqhart’s house. But Mamma will not permit—” She broke off, biting her lip.

    “No, my mamma will no longer permit me to visit, either,” admitted Muzzie gloomily.

    Lady Jane looked at her in some surprize. “Oh? But— Well, so is my mamma here tonight, after all,” she admitted, flushing up a little.

    “Yes,” said Muzzie on a glum note. “Mamma said that a marquis’s consequence is so high, he need not think of it, and may invite whomsoever he wishes, without fear nor favour.”

    “I would not wish to contradict your mamma, but I do not think that is entirely true,” said Miss Maddern on a firm note. “Now, here comes Mamma with some eligible partners, and I beg you girls will go and dance, for I declare I am positively exhausted, and will be glad to sit out.” She repeated this sentiment very firmly when Mrs Maddern came up to them and, Hildy expressing an agreement with it, the two of them were left seated by the wall as the gratified Lady Jane, Muzzie, Amabel and Anna were whirled away by, respectively, Captain Dewesbury, his friend the other hussar, Don Carlos and Luís.

    It was true that Lady Charleson had been gratified by an invitation to the New Year’s Eve ball at Daynesford Place. She had, of course, accepted. In fact she had positively leapt out of her bed, and into a flurry of activity over what she should wear. For the invitation had come at rather a shorter notice than would have been strictly desirable.

    It was fortunate indeed that she could not know that on arriving at the Place Lady Lavinia had gone through her nephew’s guest list for the ball with an eagle eye and an iron hand. And if it was too late to prevent His Royal Highness’s being exposed to Mrs Urqhart, well, at least she was not one of the house-party. Yes, she agreed that she was a good-hearted soul, but that was not the point, Giles! And what was this? The frumpish Knowles creature and all three of the dreadful sons? No, really! And the Gerritys—very well, he was the squire of Upper Daynesfold and the M.F.H., and it was an old name in the district: that was not wholly ineligible. But who on earth was this Makepeace? Sheep? Rubbish! But if he must invite all the scaff and raff of the neighbourhood—very well, dear Anne had written to remind him to do so if he were giving a grand ball; yes, very proper—very WELL, Giles, she took the expression back; but if he must invite the neighbourhood nobodies, why, pray, was the family from Willow Court not on the guest list?

    Nonsense! She would not listen to a word, and the woman’s character was not in question, and if a full-grown man like Sir Edward Jubb could not look after himself at his age it was too bad for him—and in any case, worthy he might be, but he was nonetheless a cit, and the Charleson woman was at the least gentry, and local gentry besides—

    Groaning, the Marquis had given in. But he would not have the Purdue bitch, mind. After making him apologize for his language, Lady Lavinia admitted he would not have to go that far. “Dittersford House,” indeed! She wondered the woman had not had the effrontery to call it Daynesford House! –Lady Lavinia had met Mrs Purdue at the Bishop’s Palace. Mrs Purdue had made the mistake of attempting to persuade her, as one equal to another, to join her in condemnation of the freedom which Mrs Maddern allowed to “those harum-scarum girls.” Admittedly toad-eating her would also have been a mistake, but it would at least have been an attitude to which Lady Lavinia was accustomed from her social inferiors. And her own opinion of Mrs Maddern’s upbringing of her girls was not in question—besides which, the visit to the Manor had visibly done Susan so much good, for she was immensely improved in both self-confidence and manner after it, that for the nonce Mrs Maddern was utterly in Lady Lavinia’s good books. Strangely, her Ladyship’s having helped care for Hildy was also involved in this sentiment, but Lady Lavinia could not have explained why.

    So Lady Charleson was invited. And immediately the Ditterminster dressmaker was set in a great bustle, because her Ladyship had decided that after all she did not care so much for the effect of the white lace on the lilac silk, but the lace itself was so good she should re-use it. What? Millicent, this was neither the time nor the place, and very well, the silk could possibly be set aside to be cut down, but we will discuss it later, if you please!

    What did Miss Kitson think? The white lace on black satin, if used very carefully... They draped and pinned and tried several combinations but Lady Charleson could not convince herself they were anything but magpie-ish. And a train? Oh—possibly. No, the grey would kill the lace! The grey did kill the lace, indeed, so the dressmaker hurriedly set it aside.

    Muzzie suggested blue. Lady Charleson sighed deeply and pointed out that blue was hardly suitable for a woman of her years. A deep blue? Privately Evangeline was convinced that if she wore a deep blue with the lace, Mrs Purdue would get to hear of it and would spread it all over the neighbourhood that it was the old blue silk gown which so became her, made over. She therefore rubbished the mere notion of deep blue silk. Pink? Ridiculous child! Please, Miss Kitson, not the black, that was quite decided! White? Certainly not, Millicent, quite ineligible! Stay, could not the lace be made to drape more: a softer effect? She had felt that it had been rather stiff, before. A what? A Russian effect? Really, Miss Kitson: for a ballgown?

    After a very long time indeed, and one burst of hysterics from Lady Charleson, the dressmaker produced a sketch that was deemed almost satisfactory: the overdress in the lace, recut so that it hung in graceful folds at the front exposing the underdress nearly to the knee, and dropping to a much lower line at the back. (In fact the astute dressmaker planned to work in the piece she had taken out at the front in order to achieve the effect.) The underdress would merely be a plain, soft, slip of skirt with a sleeveless bodice, the puffed lace of the unlined sleeves being set with tiny crystal and pearl beads, so they appeared a mere froth on, if Miss Kitson might say so, her Ladyship’s very lovely arms.

    That was all very well, and Lady Charleson approved it in principle, but the colour of the underdress? This was clearly crucial. A gloomy silence fell. In desperation Lady Charleson rang for tea. Poor Miss Kitson, who had risen very early indeed to obey her Ladyship’s summons and sustained the drive from Ditterminster and then three gruelling hours with her Ladyship without sustenance, positively fell on it.

    Finally Muzzle, anxiously flushed, pointed out that her mamma always looked lovely in blue. Her mother was so much revived by the tea that she scarcely demurred at all. Besides, she had already ascertained that Mrs Purdue had not received an invitation, so what did it matter, à la longue, what she said? She then had an inspiration. The lace must be dyed a deep blue, she would not wear it white at all! Yes, she knew it was risky but they had managed such things in the past, had they not, Miss Kitson? She and Muzzie would drive into Ditterminster this very— Oh. Well, first thing tomorrow, and purchase a length of satin, and they might be dyed together! And it must be cut so that it would softly drape: of all things she did not desire a stiff look— Miss Kitson understood perfectly. And her Ladyship was not to worry in the least about the colour, the dyers in Ditterminster were entirely reliable.

    Fortunately, this time, they were. And if Miss Kitson had visited the cathedral and said a prayer before the dyeing was done, that was between herself and her Maker. So Lady Charleson was very lovely in softly draped lace foaming over deep, limpidly flowing sapphire blue. She had eventually redesigned the bodice herself, so that the underdress was cut a good two inches lower than the lace at the bosom. Most effective. And still with the puffed lace sleeves, though the seed pearls had not been used in them, only the crystal beads. The overdress had been re-embroidered here and there, as if haphazardly, with more crystal beads, this embroidery gradually thickening until it formed an edging. Frosted by moonlight, was the effect she fancied she had attained.

    Even the sight of Miss Maddern’s glowing young womanhood in her blue figured muslin with her fine sapphires, and of Mrs Urqhart looking almost elegant in her soft grey-blue velvet with her still-finer sapphires could not spoil her enjoyment. For the latter was but a fat, frumpish old woman, and the former had little to recommend her but youth and a vigorous manner—no true elegance. Besides, chestnut hair did not set off blue to nearly such advantage as did fair curls. She was glad she had worn nothing in her hair but the one plume dyed the same blue, fastened with the brooch of her set: it gave a most elegant effect. She was not displeased to see the same sort of look achieved by that very smart woman in the bronze silk with the topazes. A Mrs Hallam? Oh, Lady Naseby’s sister? Indeed?

    Nor was she displeased to have her hand solicited early in the evening for the waltz by Sir Lionel Dewesbury. She accepted, but did not permit Muzzie to waltz, in view of the company. Poor Muzzie in her white muslin, even though it was a new muslin with a silk underdress and her pale blue ribbons were new also, sat gloomily by the wall with Mrs Maddern and Mrs Goodbody, wishing that Mrs Grey’s invitation had been for much, much earlier. Or that her dear Major was here.

    After their dance Sir Lionel, rather pleased with the prize he had captured and not caring if she was Mrs Urqhart’s Widder of Willer Court, for she was a dashed fine-looking woman, led her off to met his own set. Evangeline was most gratified indeed to be solicited a little later for another waltz by the Duke of Wellington. She did make the mistake of looking adoringly into his face and assuring him that all England admired his bravery at Waterloo, but His Grace passed that off with a laugh and a disclaimer, saying it was his rascally army who had been brave, and asking if they might expect to see her in London in the coming year? And proceeded to chat about the frivolities they might expect, and personalities she might or might not know and, not without a certain encouragement, really became quite daringly risqué in some of his revelations about some of the personalities here present. Evangeline had never enjoyed a dance half so much, and told him so, with a look from under her lashes. If certain persons had noticed that His Grace was doing his impersonation of the simple soldier-man to perfection this evening, at least none of them was unkind enough to say so to Lady Charleson, and he led her back to his party, the both of them quite delighted with each other.

    In the meantime Sir Lionel had departed to play cards with His Royal Highness, but Evangeline was not deterred and gamely kept up her end of the conversation with a group of lords and ladies whose names heretofore she had only glimpsed in the Court Circular. Though, true, she and her late husband had once met Lady Sefton in London, and she did not neglect to recall the occasion. Very fortunately she had never before met the Countess Lieven and so had no occasion to recall in that regard, for it was to be feared that had she done so, she might have been met with one of her Ladyship’s famous set-downs. That grande dame had already said in Lady Lavinia’s ear, as she surveyed the throng slowly through her lorgnette: “My dear Lavinia, who is that creature in the blue? She has ‘social climber’ written all over her; and, I should hazard a guess, even worse: I trust you have put Rockingham on his guard?”

    Lady Lavinia hastened to explain she was but the relict of a local Member of Parliament. The Countess gave her a quizzical look and said: “With men, my dear, that sort of thing is not always a deterrent. Or is he still besotted by the little red-headed chit in the green?”

    Lady Lavinia’s airy reply that she had no notion had not, of course, been believed for an instant, and the Countess had then slowly raised the lorgnette again and looked hard, without speaking, at the spectacle of the Marquis of Rockingham and the Earl of Sefton deep in conversation with Don Pedro Fernández de Velasco, General Sir Francis Kernohan, and a gentleman in most correct evening dress who, being a royal equerry, was more normally seen in attendance upon His Royal Highness the Prince Regent.

    Lady Lavinia was driven to swallow and suggest cards. Whist, if the Countess would care for it?

    “Comme vous voulez, ma chère Lavinia,” she replied with immense cordiality.

    Lady Lavinia went off to round up some whist players, quailing in her new evening slippers.

    Lady Sefton had known Anne Girardon, she who had been Anne Throgmorton and then Anne Hammond, for many years, and had been very glad, as she said in her kindly way, that Rockingham was coming out of his shell, at last. It was why they had been so very, very happy to accept the invitation. And she was sure Anne would understand, if they had to rush off on the second of January? Anne had understood, in fact she understood that the Seftons had put off another engagement in order to come to Daynesford Place for the New Year’s celebrations, and had smiled at her very gratefully indeed. And very soon after that apprised her of the exact situation between Giles and little Miss Ainsley.

    Now the two ladies sat together on a little gilt-legged sofa in the ballroom and watched the scene for a while. Finally Lady Sefton, her eyes following Gaetana going down the dance with Mr Roly Kernohan, said: “The little girl seems very sweet, and I am told has considerable intelligence.”

    “So I think; not one of the usual run of the débutantes, at all,” agreed Mme Girardon.

    There was a short silence. “Will it not do, after all?” said Lady Sefton on a weak note.

    Anne Girardon bit her lip. “Of course they are received everywhere. Though her scruples are most proper in her.”

    “But far too over-nice, dear Anne! After all, if her papa’s conduct in the past has not been perhaps exemplary, much may be forgiven a young man cast adrift in the world. And he has quite made up for it since, you know. And besides,” she added, not entirely logically: “the parents are fixed in Spain, are they not?”

    “Yes. And of course Lady Ainsley’s family is all that is respectable, and more.”

    “Well, my dear, could you not speak to Miss Ainsley?” she murmured.

    “That was my intention,” she agreed, sighing. “But—well, after tonight...” She looked round the ballroom. Its colour scheme was gold and cream, the elaborate gilding normally affording it its only colour. Now its pillars and balcony were not simply garlanded, they were positively shrouded in multicoloured ribbons and blooms from the hothouses; and with these and the blaze of the thousands of candles and the multiplicity of footmen in the maroon and black Hammond livery... “With this Pantheon Bazaar he has turned the ballroom into?”

    “My dear, it is not so bad!” said Lady Sefton with a laugh.

    “No, though it is the sort of vulgar display that will not please Miss Ainsley,” replied Anne firmly, “and so I said to Giles. Evidently he allowed his staff to have their heads with it. But it is symptomatic of his attitude to the whole business. He—he has gone too far. This party is the most ridiculous— Well, I ask you! York!”

    “Hush!” said Lady Sefton, laughing again. “I dare swear he could not get Prinny, at the notice!”

    “Stop it!”

    The two ladies collapsed in giggles.

    “No,” said Anne, blowing her nose, “but it as I was saying to Hugh: Giles was ever a bull at a gate. Even if this silly party should convince Miss Ainsley that her family is received in the highest circles— Well, shall we just say, that is not the worst of it!”

    “Er—well, no,” murmured Lady Sefton delicately. “My dear, if you will not mind the enquiry, how did he manage it?

    Rockingham’s mother sighed. “I do not know the precise details. I fear he may seriously have compromised his political principles, and when the House next sits you will no doubt be edified by the sight of his supporting Wellington in some inappropriate bill.”

    “Oh, dear.”

    “Quite. I doubt that will appeal to Miss Ainsley’s principles,” she said on a bitter note.

    “Anne, my dear! Do not upset yourself so!”

    Anne blinked crossly, and blew her nose again. “It is so foolish, when between us her mamma and I might quietly have persuaded the child to see sense!”

    “Well, yes. Though you may still do so, my dear.”

    “I shall certainly try. And I can only trust,” she said, biting her lip, “that she is not too young to understand that—that whatever Giles may have done, it was for love of her, and—and that it is the affections that matter in the end!”

    Lady Sefton was not so sure she agreed: it depended on the particular bill in which Wellington might wish to enlist his Lordship’s support. However, she patted her hand and hastened to say all that was kind.

    “We were, really, most surprized to receive the invitation,” murmured Mrs Parkinson, smoothing the rich plum satin of her skirt with a careless hand.

    Marinela wrenched her eyes away from the spectacle of her oldest daughter going down the dance with Mr Roly Kernohan, and her mind off what Mme Girardon and Lady Sefton might be saying to each other at the far side of the room. “But why should you not, my dear Wilhelmina?” –The ladies had decided on first names. Marinela’s difficulties with “Parkinson” might have been an influence here. She could, however, manage “Wilhelmina,” if rather slowly. Though she tended to pronounce the initial consonant as a V: à la façon bruxelloise, as one or two persons had noted.

    “Well, you know: Daynesford Place,” murmured Mrs Parkinson.

    “Sí. Quite fine. But too much ribbonth, for my taste.”

    “Er—oh, the decorations, my dear? Yes, they are a trifle... Well, the house has no mistress, you know!” said Mrs Parkinson with a meaning little laugh.

    “Yes, of course: just like a man!” said Marinela on a pleased note, looking at the heavily swagged gallery.

    “Indeed,” agreed Mrs Parkinson. “Well, he will have left it to his servants, I expect. But as I was saying, it is really most gratifying: we hardly know his Lordship, though of course in the past, he and his mamma have been so very kind to my dearest Dorothea.”

    “Sí. Also he invite Lord Lucas for Dorothea,” she noted.

    Mrs Parkinson reddened. “Oh— I would not say— Well, his papa and mamma, and his sister and older brother and his wife are all here, my dear!”

    Marinela twinkled at her. “Sí, that ith true. And hith so-amuthing grandmamma. But so are you and Dorothea here, dear Wilhelmina!”

    Mrs Parkinson at this could only laugh a little and sigh a little and shake her head.

    After which both ladies’ gazes became focussed on Dorothea going down the dance with Lord Lucas Claveringham.

    Lord Lucas had been aux anges to find her invited to the ball. Dorothea had been quite stunned to meet him here: she had had no notion that the Marquis of Rockingham was that well acquainted with the Claveringhams. Though by now she did know there was a connection through their grandmothers. Even although she had had no expectation that he would be present, she had worn her very best new gown: pale blue silk, flounced at the hem and, swathed and swagged just above this flounce, a very lovely and unusual decoration of the pale blue bound with a brighter blue and a silver riband.

    The unlamented Captain O’Flynn had sold all of her jewellery, but when her brother had discovered this he had gone up to London (in a tight-lipped fury, be it said, for all his status as a man of the cloth) and purchased for her immediately a new pearl necklace and several sets of earrings. Just trinkets, he had said. They were something more than that, and Mrs Parkinson had been sorry that Dorothea could scarcely wear them while she was in her mourning. Now she was wearing the pearl necklace and a pair of pretty ear-drops, pearls and pale sapphires, which set off her fair curls and big blue eyes to perfection. Lord Lucas, at least, thought so, and during their first dance had made up his mind he would speak to her mamma as soon as an opportunity could be made. He had already spoken to Uncle Henry Kenworthy about it and the kindly old gentleman, though naturally a little disappointed for his niece, had been delighted that Lucas had found a young woman for whom he could truly care. Mr Kenworthy did not find anything to cavil at in her widowed status, nor in the fact that she had a little daughter: on the contrary, he was preparing happily to welcome them both into his household, and had himself gone upstairs and inspected the old nursery and decided they must have it repainted and rehung.

    Marinela’s and Mrs Parkinson’s eyes met. They smiled. “We are so pleased about it,” said Dorothea’s mother in a low voice. “I am persuaded it will not be long at all before he speaks.”

    “Sí, sí! You must be very happy tonight, dear Wilhelmina, for not only doeth Dorothea to have her pleathant Lord Lucas, also your Hilary hath hith Suthán!”

    There was a short silence.

    “What—what can you mean, my dear?” she quavered.

    “I have the name wrong?” said Marinela, brow wrinkling. “Look, he dances weeth her now. A very ladylike girl. Pale dotted turquoithe muthlin weeth white satin ribbonth—pretty, no?”

    Mr Parkinson was dancing with Susan Dewesbury. Mrs Parkinson’s jaw sagged.

    “Paul and Christa tell me of it,” said Marinela in some horror. “I am so sorry, if I say the wrong theeng, dear Wilhelmina!”

    “No, no… I—I had no notion,” she said faintly.

    “Oh.” Marinela looked at her sideways. “These Dewethburyth—that ith a very hard name!—they have an old relative in Bath and they are come to the Place from there—no?”

    “Er—well, if Lady Lavinia told you so, my dear, I am sure that is correct,” she said limply.

    “Sí. They make the vithit two weeks before Christmas,” she said, looking at her sideways again.

    “Two— Marinela, are you trying to tell me they were in Bath at the same time Hilary was visiting with his grandmamma?”

    “Well, I theenk I am trying to find if you know it!” she said with a sparkle in her dark eyes. “But that ith it. Every year they make a vithit to the old relative before Navidad.”

    Mrs Parkinson swallowed. “He—he said nothing of it to me, and Mamma did not write… Could it not be a mere coincidence, my dear?”

    “Sí, I am sure, for your Hilary ith not—not... ruthé—rusé!” she finished on a pleased note.

    “Oh, good Heavens! No, he is certainly not that!”

    “No, for he ith a priest of the Church of England,” said Marinela placidly.

    “Er—quite. But—but what makes you think he saw Miss Dewesbury in Bath?”

    “She tellth me. The day you and Dorothea drive to vithit Mrs Urqhart weeth Patty. Lady Lavinia and Suthán are come to call. Also Lady Lavinia sayth how happy they are to see him in Bath.”

    “Lady Lavinia said that?” she croaked.

    “¡Sí, sí! I am theenking,” Marinela explained carefully, “that you do know all thees, Wilhelmina.”

    “I see,” she said limply.

    “Now we shall not to talk for a while, if you pleathe, my head ith tired, from all thees English,” she said calmly.

    “What? Oh—certainly, my dear,” said Mrs Parkinson feebly.

    The two ladies sat in silence, watching the dancers.

    It was true that Mr Parkinson had not had the cunning to find out that the Dewesburys would be in Bath and plan his visit to Mrs Kernohan accordingly. It was also true, however, that he had not mentioned to his mamma or sister that he had bumped into them at the Pump Room and subsequently called, more than once. Mr Parkinson, to say truth, was not as yet so sure of his own feelings that he felt he could mention the matter to anyone else. Not quite yet. He did feel, however, that Miss Dewesbury was all that was estimable in a young woman. And thought quite as she ought (that was, quite as he did) on all serious topics. And there was something so very—so very restful about her quiet presence! –He was not to know, of course, that his own presence roused emotions in the proper Miss Dewesbury’s breast which were not precisely quiet nor restful.

    This evening she was looking very pretty, for the pale turquoise and the soft stuff of the gown suited her fair looks. Mr Parkinson smiled at her and said as they went down the dance together: “How charmingly you are looking tonight, Miss Dewesbury.”

    Susan coloured up. “Thank you, Mr Parkinson.”

    She had said it in a very stiff voice: he looked at her doubtfully. “Should I not have ventured to say it?” he murmured.

    Susan was more flustered than ever. “Oh! No, I— It was not improper!” she gasped.

    “I am glad to hear it!” he said with a little rallying laugh.

    There was a short pause. “The shade suits your complexion,” he ventured.

    “Thank you,” she croaked. “Mamma says I must never wear pink.”

    Suddenly Hilary smiled his beautiful smile, right into her eyes, feeling happily, without expressing it to himself, that in spite of her usual quiet self-possession she was only a young girl, after all! He was filled with a most pleasant sensation of his own superiority, in both years and social adroitness, and suddenly was flooded with protectiveness towards her. He held her hand quite noticeably tighter and said gaily: “Well, a mere man such as I would not dare to argue with a young lady’s mamma, of course! But I have heard it maintained that a very soft pink may be worn by a fair young lady.”

    “Oh, do you think so?” said Susan very faintly, looking up into his almond eyes, mesmerized.

    “Certainly; and my sister, you know, tells me that I have excellent taste. I think you could wear a very soft rose: as of a little rosebud, just opened,” he said softly. “And would look very sweet in it.”

    Susan went considerably pinker than the rosebud in question, did not think to point out that in general, the full-blown rose was a more delicate pink than the bud, and could only manage faintly: “Oh, sir, you should not.”

    The dance now demanded that their four hands should be joined. This time he gave hers a deliberate squeeze and said huskily into her innocent blue eyes: “But you make it impossible to refrain, dear Miss Dewesbury!”

     The dance parted them: they both completed the figure with fast-beating hearts. And when their hands came together again, they both trembled.

    Lady Lavinia, in the event, had found another player to take her place at cards, for although Anne Girardon, properly speaking, was the hostess, she did not know many of the guests, and Lavinia felt she herself had best be on duty in the ballroom, at least until supper. She had returned there in time to witness this dance, in the company of Don Pedro, his son, and her nephew.

    “Well, I suppose I must thank you for inviting the young man, Giles,” she said with a little sigh.

    “I thought you wished for it?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

    “He is of a most estimable character, if you will permit the remark, dear Lady Lavinia,” said Don Pedro.

    “Well, yes: entirely estimable. And I am glad for Susan. But… Oh, well, I dare say they will do very well together.”

    “Aye, he has as little originality about him as she has,” noted the Marquis drily.

    Lady Lavinia flushed, but as that was what she had been feeling, did not contradict him.

    “Marquis, you are hardly fair: they are both delightful young people,” said Don Carlos in his careful English.

    “Thank you, Don Carlos!” said Lady Lavinia with a little laugh, pulling herself together. “But you are not so very ancient, yourself, my dear boy: is there no young lady to whom I might present you for the next dance?”

    She and his papa then saw with astonishment that he flushed up very much. “I— Well, sí: thank you so much, Lady Lavinia,” he said hoarsely. “There is a young lady, of the house-party.” –Rockingham’s shoulders quivered silently.

    “Well, who is she, dear boy?” she said in considerable amusement.

    He swallowed. “Miss Hallam.”

    “Er—which, Don Carlos?” said Lady Lavinia limply. She could not fail to be aware of Sir Julian Naseby’s marked partiality for the little dark Miss Hallam.

    “Her name,” he said, handsome cheeks redder than ever, “is Lizzie. Is that not pretty?”

    “Why, Agatha Hallam’s little daughter?” she said in some relief. “Indeed, it is a pretty name: it is short for Elizabeth, you know. And she is a girl of a most elegant appearance, is she not?”

    “Sí,” he agreed, gulping. “Vairy elegant indeed.”

    “Come along then, or some daring young gentleman will pre-empt you!” said Lady Lavinia with a laugh, taking his arm and leading him off.

    There was a short silence.

    “Who is she?” said Don Pedro tightly.

    “My dear sir, rest assured that I would not have invited the girl had I not been quite sure that there could be no possible objection to the family,” said Rockingham smoothly. “Her father is a most respectable gentleman, and her mother is Julian Naseby’s aunt.”

    “I see. Thank you, Marquis,” he said stiffly.

    Lord Rockingham looked at him in considerable sympathy. “I am afraid it was inevitable, Don Pedro. England is full of English girls,” he murmured.

    Don Pedro’s thin lips twitched reluctantly. “Of course! Only, it is so soon...”

    “Mm. But if the boy wishes to set up his nursery, at least it will keep him out of mischief, do you not think? And if he should fix his interest there, well, her parents are both intelligent people: I think she will prove to be a young woman of good sense as well as elegance, who will encourage him to take an interest in the property, and so forth.”

    “Indeed. But—but how did he meet her?”

    “At the girls’ school, with Paul and Tom.” He reported Lizzie’s prompt action over Floss’s hysterics. Don Pedro nodded approvingly.

    “She is very young, of course,” murmured Rockingham with a sly look in his eye.

    “So much the better.”

    “Indeed,” he said, managing not to laugh. “Er—Church of England, I am afraid, my dear sir.”

    Don Pedro shrugged. “Inevitably. Fortunately Carlos is not religious. I would not have countenanced his removing to a Protestant country—in spite of your so-generous offer, my dear Marquis—had it been otherwise.”

    “No, indeed,” he murmured.

    They watched Don Carlos lead the blushing Lizzie into a set.

    “Yes, elegant,” said Don Pedro with satisfaction. “You may introduce me to her people, if you would, my dear Marquis.”

    Managing not to laugh, Lord Rockingham led Don Pedro Fernández de Velasco off to meet the stunned Mr and Mrs Hallam.

    Miss Gerry Hallam had not consciously set out to catch Sir Julian Naseby. She was by far too young to think of such a thing, and by far too well brought up to have done it, if she had thought of it. Nevertheless she had been extremely flattered by his attentions to her in Bath, and the opposite of displeased to discover that he and his mamma were her fellow-guests at the Place. She was, of course, tremendously excited by the whole idea of visiting at the Marquis’s residence, and Julian had found her naïve confession of this fact entirely delightful. He also found entirely delightful her equally naïve habit of deferring to his worldly wisdom over—well, practically everything. For, as she had pointed out to him at one point in Bath, blushing and fluttering her long dark lashes quite involuntarily, he knew so much and she was little more than a schoolgirl. Nor did she confound him by talking about Greek or Latin or books, or by criticizing the political system, or by producing the sort of remark Julian was accustomed to hear from his mamma about the inequities of the social system. Or by laughing when he could not see the joke.

    Sir Julian would scarcely have been human had he not compared this meek deference and pleasant propriety with Miss Hildegarde’s very different manner to him. And been conscious of a feeling of extreme wellbeing, that verged on the very-pleased-with-himself sort of wellbeing, whenever he was in Miss Gerry’s company.

    To say truth, he had been dreading Christmas at Daynesford Place: for one thing, he had been sure that the Place would socialize very much with the Manor over the festive season and he would be forced into the company of Miss Hildegarde; and for another thing Giles had not bothered to apprise him that, for the New Year period at least, the usual house-party would be much augmented. He was immensely relieved to find a sufficiently large party of persons, young and old, already present when he, his mamma and his little girls arrived, and very pleased indeed, if astonished, to find that Miss Geraldine Hallam was one of this party. Miss Geraldine was speedily introduced to his little girls. Only Ermy had had sufficient want of tact to report glumly that Miss Gerry was not half as clever nor so much fun as Hildy, and Julian had managed to overlook that.

    They were sitting this dance out, for Julian felt that they had already danced one more dance together than was entirely proper, though as his Aunt Agatha had raised no objection, possibly it was all right.

    Miss Geraldine said in wonder: “Why, who is that dark man dancing with Lizzie?”

    “Er—one of the Spaniards from the Manor; think he is some sort of a cousin. Giles seems to have given him his old dower house and a couple of farms that go with it—cannot imagine why,” he noted.

    Miss Gerry’s big brown eyes opened very wide.

    Julian was relieved to find that she found it as odd a thing as did he, and said: “Oh, well, it is only a small house, and has not been lived in for this age. I dare say there may be some connexion between the families: the old Don seems to think Giles is all that is wonderful, at all events!”

    “Yes, indeed. Is—is he not a—a tremendously fine old gentlemen, sir?” she ventured.

    “Mm, stiff-rumped, ain’t he? Never met a fellow that was so high in the instep!” he said with a chuckle.

    “Oh!” said Miss Gerry in tremendous relief. “You find him so, too!”

    “I should say so! What, you did not think you were alone in that opinion, surely, Miss Gerry?” he said, his eyes sparkling.

    “Wuh-well... I was not sure... I thought perhaps great lords might always be so,” she said, blushing very much. “I—I am very glad that I was not born into a—a great family. The way of life here seems so—so very formal!”

    Julian smiled. “Mm. Well, my own home is rather more formal than, say, the Ainsleys’!” he said with a little laugh. “But when we come to stay when it just Giles, or perhaps he and his mamma, there is none of this formality: you would think yourself in any country house.”

    “I am glad of it; I would not like to think that anyone lived like this all the time.”

    Julian hesitated. He was, of course, used to the sort of life that persons in Society commonly led between Seasons, and often stayed in houses where far more state normally prevailed than even at Daynesford Place with its state apartments thrown open and the Duke of York in residence. “Are you not enjoying your stay, then, Miss Gerry?”

    “Oh, yes! Only without dear Aunt Agatha to tell me how I should go on, I could not support it at ail! And I am so glad Lizzie has come, too, because all the other young ladies except dear Miss Hobbs are so—so grown-up and fine.”

    Julian frowned. “Carolyn Girardon has not been on her high horse, I hope?”

    “Why, no!” she gasped. “She has been all that is kind. But—but she knows so many of the other young ladies and—and the gentlemen, too!”

    Julian was not displeased that Miss Gerry did not know the other gentlemen. He smiled a little and said: “Well, she has had the better part of a Season, I suppose. Thinks she is up to snuff, though she is no such thing, of course. –Here, have you seen her on that dashed white mare, with the blue harness?”

    “Oh, yes! Does she not present a picture?” she gasped in admiration.

    “No. Not the thing,” said Sir Julian blightingly. “May be all very well in Hyde Park—though I should not care to see a sister of mine in a pale blue habit with a dashed plumed shako, even there. But quite ineligible for country wear.”

    “Oh—I did not know,” she faltered.

    “How could you?” he replied simply, smiling. “Do you ride, yourself?”

    Miss Gerry had thought she did, until she had witnessed Mile Girardon flying intrepidly over huge obstacles. “Only a very little,” she whispered.

    Julian was not displeased to hear this, either. “I see,” he said kindly. “Well, if you should care for the occasional turn in the Park, I shall be quite at your disposal, when you are in London.”

    “Oh! Thank you, Sir Julian!” she gasped. “But I fear my riding is not good enough for London, sir!”

    “But when I say quite at your disposal, Miss Geraldine,” he said gaily, “I mean that, in the event you should care for some coaching, I should be only too happy to offer it—to the best of my poor ability, y’know!” He gave a little laugh.

    Miss Gerry did not notice that it was a rather silly laugh: she merely looked up into his face with great, adoring eyes and breathed: “Oh! How kind you are, Sir Julian!”

    Terrifically pleased with himself, Julian replied: “It will be my entire pleasure, dear Miss Gerry. And by the by, what is all this ‘Sir Julian’ stuff? We are cousins, are we not? Should you not be calling me ‘Cousin Julian’, at the very least?”

    Miss Gerry’s hands flew to her cheeks. “We are not really cousins at ail!” she gasped. “Your aunt is merely married to my papa’s brother, sir!”

    “That makes us cousins, though, don’t it?” he said plaintively.

    “No!” she gasped.

    “Oh, I say, I thought it did,” he said sadly.

     Miss Gerry peeped at him. “You did no such thing!” she discovered. “Oh, how naughty you are!”

    “Oh, now I have shocked you,” he said sadly. “Accept my humblest apologies, ma’am.”

    “Oh! Yes, of course, I— Oh, dear!”

    “You are most generous, ma’am.”

    Suddenly Miss Gerry went into a fit of giggles.

    “What?” he said, smiling. “Does something amuse you, ma’am?”

    “You know very well what!” she gasped. “Pray stop calling me ‘ma’am’!”

    Julian looked sad. “But what else can I call you? ‘Cousin Gerry’ is apparently out of the question, and I know not how it is, somehow I find that ‘Miss Gerry’ is commencing to grate upon the ear.”—Miss Gerry looked at him doubtfully.—“However, to drop the ‘Miss’ would be quite ineligible,” he said gloomily.

    “Yes, indeed it would!” she said strongly, though a dimple looked as it if was trying to pop out.

    Julian looked at the dimple with interest. “I was afraid you would find it so, ma’am.”

    Miss Gerry gasped, and two dimples appeared, and she went into a fit of giggles.

    Miss Maddern and Miss Ainsley had been sitting near enough to overhear the most of this sparkling repartee. They exchanged glances, silently rose, and removed themselves to a distant sofa.

    “Puerile!” said Gaetana witheringly.

    “Well, yes,” owned Christabel drily. “It appears to be what he desires, however.”

    “Not her! Him!”

    “Both,” said Christabel drily.

    Gaetana bit her lip. “¡Sí!”

    “I would say Hildy is well rid of him,” said Miss Maddern dispassionately. “Imagine having to listen to that for the rest of one’s life.”

    Gaetana shuddered, but said: “I suppose it would wear off, in time.”

    “To be replaced by mutual boredom, very like. Though possibly not in the cases of he and Miss G.” Christabel admitted, relenting somewhat. “When neither can perceive the other’s limitations, is there room for boredom?”

    Gaetana choked.

    “But definitely in the case of Hildy and he.”

    “Sí,” she agreed, shuddering again.

    The eyes of the soon-to-be sisters-in-law met. Suddenly they both dissolved in paroxysms of giggles, sitting there in the Daynesford Place ballroom bright red and shaking.

    “Two—imbeciles!” gasped Gaetana.

    “Quite!” choked Christabel, going into a fresh paroxysm.

    “Let me guess,” said a light tenor from behind them, with just the faintest suggestion of a lisp.

    “Do not,” Miss Maddern warned her fiancé.

    Paul came round their sofa and pulled up a chair beside her, smiling. “Luís and little Anna? No?” He looked round the ballroom. “Eric and Mlle Girardon?”

    “Ssh!” hissed Gaetana, shaking. –Christabel was past hissing, even.

    “You cannot mean Lady C. and Sir Lionel?” he said in astonishment.

    “Stop it!” choked his sister. “He has deserted her for the card room, long since!”

    “Yes,” said Miss Maddern, gulping.

    “Ah: it must be Lady J.C. and Captain Q.D.,” decided Paul.

    “Never say she has snared him at last!” gasped his fiancée, forgetting she was a lady.

    “No, I will not say any such thing. His mamma captured him and forcibly dragged him to her feet. It reminded me of nothing so much as that damned terrier of Luís’s that believes it is a retriever,” he said thoughtfully.

    “Captain Dewesbury is not in the least like a dead ruh-rat!” choked his sister.

    “I would dispute that, querida,” he noted calmly. “He has all of its animation and very nearly all of its brain.”

    “Paul Ainsley! Stop that at once!” gasped Miss Maddern, coming to her senses.

    “I am bored,” he said, pouting. “The most beautiful young lady in the room has danced with me but once.”

    “Yes, well,” said Miss Maddern weakly, “you should do your duty by all the other young ladies.”

    “I have ceased doing my duty by all the other young ladies: they bore me to tears. And if you do not instantly dance with me, Christa, I shall go home.”

    “Now you are being silly,” she said weakly. “The waltz is almost done. And we cannot desert dear Gaetana.”

    “Please desert me, I shall sit here and go into a happy day-dream of going home,” said Gaetana promptly.

    Paul raised his eyebrows very high at his fiancée.

    Weakly Miss Maddern got up and allowed him to lead her into the waltz.

    “It was Sir Julian and Miss Gerry Hallam,” she said feebly.

    “Sí, I noticed,” he returned calmly.

    Christabel gulped. After a moment she said: “I cannot imagine why we came! It has not answered in the least!”

    “Er—well, it is true it is very nearly time for supper, and Lord R. has not danced with Miss A., and Major K. has not danced with Miss H.M. But then Miss H.M. has not lacked for partners. And in fact Miss A.— What is it?”

    “If I were not a lady, Paul Ainsley, I would make you eat that neckcloth!” she hissed.

    “But what have I done? I was just about to say that Giles has been very occupied with the more eminent of his guests: he is not dancing—well, apart from leading the Countess Lieven out in the first dance. And I can hardly force the Major to dance with Hildy if he does not wish to.”

    “Not that!” she hissed. “The initials!”

    “Oh, I’m sorry; I thought I was being tactful.’

    “You thought no such thing!” she hissed.

    “Well, at least I thought it was the done thing. For you and Gaetana were doing it.”—Miss Maddern glared.—“And not ten minutes since I overheard Lady Georgina and Mrs Parkinson doing the very same thing,” he said plaintively.

    His fiancée choked. “Lady Georgina and— Does her Ladyship know who she is?”

    “I would doubt it, given that her Ladyship was admiring Mrs Parkinson’s son’s beauty in—er—terms which in her day probably did not appear wholly outrageous, and comparing it to that of several gentlemen whom she had known rather well. Those were the initials. And Mrs Parkinson was trying to change the subject.”

    Miss Maddern was speechless.

    “It did not appear to me to be a suitable subject with which to introduce oneself to one’s grandson’s future mamma-in-law,” he said airily, “but then I, you know, am but a poor foreigner. –What?”

    “Take me out this instant,” she said through her teeth.

     Paul led his fiancée’s puce and silent form into a little side room and firmly shut the door. Ineligible though that undoubtedly was. “Querida, we must not stay here, it is most inel—” He broke off. Miss Maddern had given a helpless wail and was clinging onto his coat sleeve in a gale of laughter.

    Paul let her have her laugh out. Then he led her back into the ballroom with a very prim expression on his face. Fortunately Miss Maddern knew him well enough by now not to glance at the face in question for one single, solitary, fleeting instant.

    “I think,” said Mrs Maddern, having collected up various members of her party, “that we may now go into supper, dear Marinela.”

    “Sí, sí," agreed Marinela happily, rising.

    “Er—where is Harry?” added his cousin uneasily.

    “He playth cardth with the Duke of York,” said Marinela cheerfully. Mrs Maddern blenched. “I theenk we not to derange him, no?”

    “Er—no, indeed. You mean ‘disturb’, my dear.”

    “Aye! He’s deranged already!” said Luís cheerfully, offering his arm to his mother. “You take Cousin Sophia, that’s right, Carlos,” he added happily to his cousin, “and Mr Parkinson may take his mamma—there!”

    “Now, where is Dorothea?” said Mrs Maddern as Mrs Parkinson allowed her son to assist her to her feet.

    “More to the point, where’s Lucas Claveringham?” corrected Luís jovially.

    “They went in a few moments ago,” murmured Christabel.

    “Yes, indeed,” said Dorothea’s mamma, looking very pleased.

    “S’pose one dare not ask, where is Hal and Tom?” added Luís, grinning.

    Mrs Maddern winced.

    “Why, yes: where are they, my dear?” asked Mrs Parkinson. “I have not seen them for some time.”

    “Er—gone off to play cards, ma’am,” admitted Luís with an uneasy look at his aunt. “Only with Broughamwood and a couple of his pals, though!” he added hastily.

    Mrs Maddern sighed heavily. “I am afraid so. And it is too bad!”

    “Lord Broughamwood is a most respectable young man, my dear,” murmured Cousin Sophia.

    “Aye: with Hubbel for a papa, he would not dare be otherwise.” Luís broke off. “Strict, y’know,” he muttered, avoiding Mrs Parkinson’s eye.

    “Yes, but he is a married man!” said Mrs Maddern crossly.

    This was true. But nobody could find anything to say to it.

    Eventually Hilary said on a desperately merry note: “But then, after all, dear Hal is an engaged man, Mrs Maddern!”

    “Tom is not, however,” she said grimly.

    This was also true. But nobody could find anything to say to it, either.

    “But where ith Hildy?” asked Marinela, having shaken out her crimson skirts, dropped her fan, had Luís retrieve the fan, and rearranged her beautiful black mantilla on her shoulders to her satisfaction.

    Mrs Maddern swallowed a sigh. “She went into supper five minutes since with Mr Roly Kernohan, my dear.”

    “But that ith the wrong one!” she cried.

    There was a short silence. Amabel and Mr O’Flynn looked at their feet. Mr Parkinson did not look at his feet, but his ears had turned red.

    “Weil, at least it is keeping it in the family,” said Paul smoothly.—Miss Maddern swallowed.—“Now, are we all ready?”

    “But we have lost Gaetana!” cried his mother.

    “Marinela, as her duenna, it was your duty to keep an eye on her,” Paul replied sternly.—Marinela, somewhat to the three English ladies’ horror, gave a loud giggle.—“I fear she has gone in with Lord Welling. The wrong one, of course. But in some sort, it is keeping it in the family,” he added smoothly. “Now come along, everyone, I have heard a rumour of ices, and we do not wish to miss out.”

    “Oh, dear,” murmured Amabel, as her affianced led her away.

    “What is it, my love?” asked Mr O’Flynn solicitously.

    “Hildy is so fond of ices. I trust she may not eat too many and—and contract another chill.”

    “I should think there is very little fear of that, my dear,” he said gallantly. “The rooms are so very warm, you know.”

    “But that is it! The contrast of the ices with the heat of the room!”

    Mr O’Flynn looked very disconcerted.

    “And she ate very little dinner,” worried Amabel.

    He had remarked that, too. “The prospect of a grand ball such as this must be exciting to a young lady, after all, my dear.”

    “That is why I am worried. Ices on top of all the excitement, and an empty stomach, and the hot atmosphere!”

    Mr O’Flynn returned bravely: “Then we must speak to her, my love.”

    Hildy was discovered at a little round table, not only with Mr Roly but also with Miss Jubb, Mr Dorian Kernohan, Mrs Urqhart, Sir Edward Jubb, Major Kernohan, and little Linny Stalling, the last-named very flushed and in a state of extreme excitement.

    “Hildy, dearest,” began Amabel.

    Hildy looked up, smiling. “Hullo, Amabel; hullo, Mr O’Flynn: would you care to join us?”

    “Yes, do,” said the Major, rising, and capturing an extra chair for Miss Amabel from a nearby table.

    Roly bounded up and found Mr O’Flynn a chair, and the two sat down, Mrs Maddern meanwhile smiling and nodding encouragingly at them, as her party went off to another table.

    Once seated, Amabel looked anxiously at the dish in front of Hildy. “Dearest, how many ices have you had?” she murmured.

    “Only two. Amabel, you must try the pink one: it is flavoured with a strawberry syrup, and is of all things the most delicious!”

    “Aye, and the lemon ice is also delicious, is it not, Miss Hildy?” said Roly with a laugh. “Seldom have I seen an ice vanish so fast!”

    “Do we gather we are to bring up all our forces and throw ’em into the breach in order to prevent Miss Hildegarde’s capturing all the ices, Miss Amabel?” asked the Major, his face all twinkles.

    Amabel swallowed. “She is so very partial to them, sir.”

    “Surely a third could do no harm?” murmured Hildy.

    “Dearest, you ate virtually no dinner!” she cried.

    “Aye, well, then, more of them cold things won’t do,” said Mrs Urqhart, shaking her head at her.

    “Dear Miss Hildy, could I not perhaps fetch you some chicken, or a tasty little savoury?” ventured the kindly Mr O’Flynn.

    “Aye, you try some of those little things that Ned fetched me, Hildy!” urged Mrs Urqhart.

    Hildy was now rather flushed, for everyone’s attention was on her and she had begun to feel that perhaps she had been in danger of making a beast of herself over the ices. Oh, dear, what would he think? “Thank you very much, Mr O’Flynn,” she said in a tiny voice.

    Mr O’Flynn hurried off to find nourishment for her, Amabel and himself, and the Major rose quietly and went to assist him. Dorian then quickly introduced the subject of the magnificence of the ballroom’s decorations, so there could be no awkward gap in the conversation, and both Hildy and Johanna looked at him gratefully.

    Little Miss Stalling, meanwhile, having fallen head over ears for the glorious, golden-haired Roland, continued to regard the table top, with occasional little peeps at the glorious one. Of which the poet was blithely unaware. For Miss Hildy looked like an angel tonight, and he was meditating rhymes upon the words “angelic”—difficult, for the only one that came forcibly to mind, no doubt Amabel’s concern over the ices on an empty stomach being the decisive factor, was “colic.”

    Hildy was, indeed, angelic tonight. Mrs Maddern had, very naturally, insisted the younger girls wear new gowns to the Marquis’s New Year’s Eve ball. Hildy’s amethyst gauze had been all very well for the big party at the Manor earlier, but that had been positively a rompish affair, with most of the neighbourhood present. That, however, had been positively the last occasion on which she should wear it and Mrs Maddern with her own hands had then consigned it to the rag-bag—Amabel subsequently quietly retrieving it to cut down for a pretty little dress for Bunch, for next summer.

    Hildy was therefore clad in the new gown which Mrs Maddern had commissioned for her in London for just such an occasion. The concept was Amabel’s, and it was truly delightful and unusual, the skirt being composed of two layers of floating organdie, the top layer about three inches shorter, but both being bound with white satin ribbon. The sash was also white satin and the small puff sleeves had knots of the ribbons nestling in them. –Not like kittens, as Mr Dorian had already remarked to the shaking Hildegarde. The underdress was white satin and if she had a very warm petticoat under that, no-one was aware of that fact but herself and her mamma. Her auburn curls were bound with a narrow circlet of the same white satin, the bow being pinned just above the left temple with her ring brooch and one delicate white bloom from the conservatory. And her slender neck was encircled by her dainty necklet of seed pearls. Mr Roly was not by any means the only young gentleman present tonight to have been inspired to poetic flights of fancy by this lovely sight, and Hildy had been positively besieged by would-be dance partners.

    Major Kernohan had been at least as struck by her appearance as any of those young gentlemen, but he had not joined the queue for her hand: he did not care to make himself and his partner particular in such a large and formal gathering. He had, however, suggested that Mr Roly and he might take Miss Hildegarde and the little girl with whom she was sitting in to supper. The poet had needed no further urging.

    Aurry had not seen Hildy for some little time: since, in fact, the Indian meal at The Towers, for he and his brothers had all gone home to Bath for Christmas, returning to the district only on the thirtieth of December. He had had no opportunity for private conversation with her, and indeed had scarcely spoken to her since the night he had brought Bunch home and her relatives had arrived from Spain. The astute Mrs Urqhart’s analysis of his state of mind had been perfectly correct: until he was sure that he was ready to come to a decision over his future, Aurry had determined it would not be fair to Miss Hildegarde to make any sort of overtures that could be misinterpreted.

    At Christmas time Mr Henry had questioned him in a careless tone, skirting round the topic in what he had imagined to be an artful fashion, but the Major was more than enough of a tactician to block these manoeuvres. His father had then privily adjured Sir Francis, on a very cross note, to keep an eye on Aurry at Daynesford Place, and report back, because he was dashed if he could make out what the fellow was at! The General had replied calmly that it was the boy’s own affair, but upon his brother’s becoming very heated had agreed that he would report anything he noticed. Though not failing to add that he was not much at that sort of matchmaking nonsense, and Henry would do better to sic Dorian onto him, if he wanted full dispatches. Mr Henry had replied crossly that Dorian had his own affairs to think of, and to leave the boy alone, there was no harm in him. –And had Francis ever heard  of a Sir Edward Jubb?

    So far General Sir Francis’s method of keeping an eye upon Aurry had amounted to insisting he come out with the guns that morning, for the air would do him good, introducing him to His Grace of Wellington, and advising him not to play cards with York’s set. The which the Major had assured him in astonishment he had no intention of doing. General Kernohan had merely grunted at this—though to those who knew him well the grunt denoted that he was not displeased by his nephew’s good sense. During the ball the General had noticed that Aurry was not dancing, but he was aware this must be because of the arm, and neither remarked upon it nor attempted to introduce him to any partners.

    Major Kernohan should have been satisfied by this: it was no more than he himself had decided should be his course, after all. Any young lady who was not nearly related to him could not fail to be embarrassed by learning that she would have to guide his hand in the dance. Surprisingly enough, however, on seeing Hildegarde twirling round in the grasp of such fribbles as his two brothers, or young Dewesbury and his friend the other hussar, or stupid young Lord Welling, who had had far more dances with her than was seemly, or her cousin Luís, or his connexion Don Carlos, or young Mr Charleson, or even the elderly Mr Makepeace, produced in his breast no satisfaction at all. On the contrary. Sensible man of turned two and thirty though he was, and prudent though all his decisions on the matter when he was not in her presence had been, the Major could think of nothing but how much he longed to take her in his arms, excluding the fribbles utterly from her notice, and whirl her away to— Well, whirl her away.

    Hildy for her part had seen he was not dancing and although of course she guessed the reason for it she could not help feeling very hurt that he had not asked her for just one waltz. For he must surely know that she had not found the touch of his hand at her waist at all offensive and—and that they could manage together in such a way as not to make him remarked! Although she had twirled round the floor cheerfully enough she had been unable to keep her eyes from returning to him in hope. Her heart had beat very fast indeed when he and Mr Roly had come up to her and little Linny Stalling and invited them to come in to supper. And although Roly had possessed himself of her arm, she had been aware of the Major’s eyes on her face.

    With both Mr Dorian and Mrs Urqhart at the table there was little need for anyone else to make much of an effort to keep up the conversation. Though it would not have been true to say that no-one noticed that both Hildy and Major Kernohan were at first rather silent: Mrs Urqhart and Sir Ned were both aware of it. The latter participated in the conversation with quiet propriety but his old friend had not failed to perceive that his face had paled upon his first catching sight of Hildy in her floating white, and could only think sadly, albeit also a trifle grimly, Poor devil.

    Dorian having revealed to those of the company who were not aware of it that his younger brother was a poet, the conversation became very joking indeed and people began eagerly to dream up rhymes to describe the delights of the food and drink, and the splendours of the ballroom, with much laughter.

    Mrs Urqhart, who was not much of a one for rhymes, was able to sit back and, fanning herself slowly, take a bit of breather. And look around her...

    Mrs Urqhart gulped. Sir Ned, having just daringly rhymed “dizzy flights” with “delicious bites”, felt he had done his bit for the nonce, and was sitting back, idly watching Betsy watch the company. He followed her gaze. His eyebrows rose a little.

    The Royal card party having broken up on Sir Harry Ainsley’s basely deserting the gentlemen to rejoin his wife, Sir Lionel Dewesbury had, without, it was to be feared, very much ceremony, led His Royal Highness off to supper. He himself could cheerfully have eaten a horse, cards always gave him an appetite! The Duke of York was very content to be treated in this comradely fashion, for stiffly formal occasions were what he could not well be doing with, he loved everything to be cosy and jolly about him, as he had told you fellows a thousand times, hey? His train smiled agreement, though it was to be feared they would have smiled agreement with anything His Royal Highness said, and followed him into the supper room.

    There young Viscount Broughamwood, his wife, and his sister, Lady Jane Claveringham, were just about to sit down with Lady Charleson and her daughter. –Lady Charleson, having spotted Muzzle sitting with Lady Jane, had thereupon rejoined her daughter instantly. And subsequently, on Lady Sefton’s joining them, had welded herself to her Ladyship’s side.

    The Duke of York did not at all wish to be married to Lady Jane Claveringham, but as her mamma had given up throwing her at him he was not absolutely averse to her company: she was a pretty enough girl; and if the Seftons and he were not of the same set, that did not matter: Lady S. was an agreeable enough woman; so there was no reason they should not join them. And that dashed fine-looking woman in the blue—by Jove, Lionel, who was she? It certainly looked as if young Broughamwood needed a bit of support there, hey? –Hearty laughs from the gentlemen in His Royal Highness’s party. The two groups forthwith became one. Somehow His Royal Highness, cheerfully ignoring any questions of precedence (as was pretty much his wont), managed to seat himself beside the dashed fine-looking woman in the blue.

    Lady Charleson was almost overcome. Her cup, indeed, was running over. Not only a dance with the Hero of Waterloo, but supper in the company of the Duke of York! If only Mrs Purdue could have been present to see her triumph! But there was no fear that she would not very speedily be apprised of it. And with any luck other tongues than Lady Charleson’s own would perform the task for her.

    Muzzle was so excited she was almost unable to speak, and quite unable to eat, more especially as the Duke of York himself said to her with a very kind smile (having registered whose daughter she was): “Now, it will not do for a little girl not to eat, you know, my dear! Why do not you try some of this mushroom savoury thing? I dare say any of these fellows will be glad to fetch you some!” As “these fellows” were all quite elderly gentlemen, at least in Millicent’s innocent eyes, it was rather like sitting with Uncky Charleson and Uncky Georgy, so she was not absolutely uncomfortable. Just overawed.

    Mrs Urqhart’s eyes became glued to that table. Sir Ned was not so forgetful of his company, but his glance returned that way not infrequently. When their young companions had finished their supper and were evidently ready to return to the ballroom, he drew her attention quietly to the fact. Mrs Urqhart jumped visibly and said: “Uh—well, my dears, if Ned, here, thinks it would be the thing, do you think you might take yourselves on back? Us old people could do with a rest.”

    “I think it will be quite acceptable,” said Ned promptly. “Mr Roly, perhaps you could give your arm to Miss Linny? –Splendid!”

    The four couples went off arm-in-arm, the Major having no option but to offer his to Hildy.

    “You is a master strategist, Ned Jubb, and no mistake,” said Mrs Urqhart feebly.

    “Aye, and damned self-sacrificing “ he noted sourly.

    “No, well, so you ought to be. –Now, quick, what is they up to at the Widder’s table?”

    “Said I not you should set up a lorgnette?” he choked as she peered.

    “Ssh! –Lordy,” she said in awe: “I swear his hand is on her thigh!”

    “Er—mm. The indications all point that way.”

    “Well, she will not get anything out o’ that except the loss of her reputation!” she announced with some satisfaction. “Why, it’s said that a lady what is favoured is lucky even to get a mere bracelet out of one of them Royal brothers: they has not two pennies to rub together between the lot of ’em, you know!”

    “Quite,” he agreed with an expression of distaste.

    Lady Lavinia came into supper a little late, for she had waited to be sure that everyone had found someone to take in. The Marquis of Rockingham and his Grace of Wellington had also delayed, for His Grace had lapsed into a reminiscent vein, at ease in the company of General Sir Francis Kernohan, another military man of similar age, one Colonel Percival, and that jovial naval man, Admiral Dauntry—if you fellows would believe it, “Fuzzy” Dauntry and he had been at school together! But eventually Lady Lavinia came up to them and murmured in her nephew’s ear and, collecting up Lady Welling and Cousin Philomena (the pair equally funereal) from a last hand of piquet, they all proceeded to supper.

    “Oh, dear: who is that girl with Vernon?” said Lady Welling instantly.

    Reflecting not for the first time that if Amelia Standish did not wish Vernon to fall into unsuitable company she should keep an eye on him, and not retire to the card room two minutes after a function had commenced, Lady Lavinia replied with immense calm: “That is Miss Ainsley, Giles’s neighbour from Ainsley Manor. She is a perfectly respectable young woman. But if you do not wish for them to be alone, I dare say we might join them.” She did not wait for an answer, but swept forward immediately on His Grace’s arm.

    It was with some dismay that Gaetana had discovered during the course of the evening that Lord Welling’s affections now seemed to be equally divided between herself and Hildy! Hildy, naturally, had discovered it with extreme hilarity. Especially when it had dawned on the girls that, apart from the odd occasion when Lady Lavinia dragged him off forcibly to another young lady’s feet, he was sharing his dances equally between them! Welling had informed Gaetana that she looked as fairylike as a wood sprite this evening. On enquiry, Hildy, shaking all over, had revealed that for her had found the image of a frosted naiad. Almost as poetical as General Lowell of Bath, indeed! Hilarious though this all was, Gaetana nevertheless had been disconcerted when the young Viscount eagerly pressed her to honour him by partaking of supper in his company. Unfortunately he had done so while she was standing with the amiable Lady Gerrity, and that well-meaning lady had instantly urged her to accept. Feeling her fate was sealed, Gaetana had gone off with the once-naked Viscount.

    His behaviour, incidentally, to both her and Hildy, if his images were very silly, was nothing but entirely proper. So Gaetana could not help thinking that the affaire with Lady Violet must have been at the lady’s initiative. And judging by Hildy’s description of her she would have been more than capable of it! Gaetana was, of course, correct, though she did not know enough to take into account the fact of a very young man’s first physical passion. Lady V. had had an easy conquest and a more than willing partner. And if it were true that she had seen herself as a viscountess in some vague but glorious future— Well, who in her circles was not guilty of that sort of ambition?

    His Grace of Wellington looked on with a kindly eye as the pretty little girl in the green, very flustered, rose to her feet as he approached the table. And with a less kindly one, for he held no brief for silly young men who frittered their time away with highly unsuitable married woman instead of taking up a sensible profession, as Welling also stumbled up, very red. “Sit down, my dear Miss Ainsley, no need for that sort of formality!” he said cheerfully.

    “Yes, pray be seated, Miss Ainsley,” agreed Lady Lavinia. “Vernon, please fetch another couple of chairs. Now, Your Grace, if you would care to? And Giles, take this seat beside Miss Ainsley: she is your neighbour’s sister, after all.”

    Rockingham tottered to the indicated seat. He had known Lavinia to be pretty well a seasoned campaigner, but really—!

    “We hear your papa has been relieving York of his money, my dear!” said Admiral Dauntry cheerfully, after Lady Lavinia had made sure everyone knew everybody else and had seated all the company, Lord Welling’s place on Gaetana’s other side mysteriously yielding itself up to Colonel Percival’s burly middle-aged form in the process. “And to think Percival, here, warned the fellow, and he would not listen!”

    Gaetana swallowed. “Indeed, sir?”

    “Why, yes,” said Colonel Percival, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Harry and I go back many years: he is a superb card player. You do not remember me, Miss Ainsley, but I think you are the little girl who once sat on my knee, when your papa and mamma were living in Amsterdam!”

    Gaetana gulped again. Her parents had, of course, resided twice in Amsterdam. And she was fairly sure that the first time, it had been under the wrong flag.

    “Aye, aye: Percival, here, was one of the undercover fellows in those days!” said His Grace cheerfully. “But don’t let us be prosin’ on about war and such dull stuff to a young lady! Are you enjoying yourself, my dear? Have these young fellows come up to scratch, hey?”

    Gaetana assured His Grace, very weakly, that she had had plenty of partners.

    “That’s good! And that reminds me, Giles, my boy,” he said—Lady Lavinia here had much ado not to gulp—“you are not one of us crusty old fellows: you must go and dance, too, after we have supped! What do you say to that, Miss Ainsley?”

    “I—I suppose Lord Rockingham has been doing his duty as the host, Your Grace,” she said faintly.

    “Well, he has done enough, and even a host may dance!” he said with the famous barking laugh.

    “Your Grace, I perceive you are as deadly in frontal assault as you are cunning in strategic retreat,” said Rockingham in a very weak voice “My defences have quite crumbled, and I must instantly request Miss Ainsley for the very next waltz. –Miss Ainsley, will you?”

    Shaken though she was by Wellington’s frontal attack, not to say entire lack of tact—it instantly became apparent the man knew the purpose of this entire charade—Gaetana had much ado not to glare at the Marquis. “Thank you, Lord Rockingham.”

    “It will be my pleasure, entirely, Miss Ainsley,” he replied formally.

    Wellington merely nodded pleasedly, and the conversation turned to other matters.

    Lady Lavinia speedily became aware, not with pleasure, of what was going on at the Duke of York’s table. She was, of course, holding herself in readiness for something of the sort, for the Royal brothers were famed for their indiscretions. Not, of course, with very young or unwilling ladies, but in most country-house parties there would be plenty of the other sort, and her Ladyship had duly ascertained that her nephew’s guest list was typical. Though in this instance it was no consolation to her to reflect that she herself had insisted the Charleson creature must be invited. After some time, as the room slowly cleared, but the shouts of laughter from His Royal Highness’s table did not abate, she also became aware that the table in question was under scrutiny from another quarter. This did not please her, either: she had no wish to see her nephew’s guests make spectacles of themselves in front of the late Timothy Urqhart’s vulgar relict and the cit. However worthy the two of them might be.

    It was some time before she was able to drop a hint in her nephew’s ear. However, Admiral Dauntry at last declaring a desire to blow a quiet cloud, His Grace of Wellington rose to join “old Fuzzy,” taking along General Sir Francis and Colonel Percival in his train.

    “Rockingham,” she said instantly, leaning over the table: “you will break up that scene at York’s table immediately, if you please.”

    Rockingham glanced over that way, and raised his eyebrows. “None of the participants appears to me to be in the least need of rescuing, Lavinia. Or do you fancy York to be in danger from the wiles of the Widder of Willer Court?”

    “No such thing!” she said angrily. “That does not mean I wish it to continue under this roof, however!”

    “It ain’t your roof, Lavinia,” he drawled. Lady Lavinia’s bosom swelled alarmingly. “But if you are that anxious, why do you not break it up yourself?”

    Seeing that poor Lady Lavinia looked as if she were about to burst, Gaetana said hurriedly: “I agree with Lord Rockingham, Lady Lavinia, in that the chief participants in the drama are well over the age of majority. However, if you like I shall go and rescue Miss Charleson.”

    “My dear, do not go over there!”

    “Look, he won’t leap on her and instantly ravish her, Aunt,” drawled Rockingham. “Won’t leap on anybody, for that matter: not while my eye is upon him.”

    “You are impertinent, Rockingham,” she said awfully. “Such language in front of Miss Ainsley and, I may add, dear Amelia and Cousin Philomena, is highly unsuitable in a man of your age and, one had been led to believe, breeding.”

    His Lordship leaned back in his chair, looking sardonic. “A hit, a palpable hit.”

    “Marquis, you are being very naughty,” said Gaetana, biting her lip. “Lord Welling, if you would but give me your arm, I think—”

    Rockingham got up. “I shall rescue the child,” he said in a bored voice.

    His table watched with breathless interest, as he strolled over to the Duke of’ York’s group.

    “Oh! He has done it after all!” gasped old Cousin Philomena, as the Royal party then broke up, His Highness rising and bowing most profoundly to Lady Charleson—and, as an afterthought, Lady Sefton—and then retreating on a crony’s arm in the direction of the ballroom.

    “Did you think he would not, dear Cousin?” returned Lady Lavinia on a dry note.

    “Wuh-well, my dear, he was being so very disobliging,” she faltered.

    “He was being disobliging,” said his aunt, watching his progress towards them expressionlessly, “because I reminded him of his duty. And he hates that.”

    “I must say, I thought he would be mad as fire,” gulped Lord Welling.

    Lady Lavinia’s glance just flickered over him. “No doubt. –Well, my dear girls!” she greeted Lady Jane and Miss Charleson, as Rockingham came up with one on each arm.

    “I have promised the young ladies that you will protect ’em, Lavinia,” he said on a dry note, “while their chaperones retire to freshen up.”

    “Quite right, Giles,” she said unemotionally. “Pray sit down, my dears. Now, tell me,” she added, smiling: “did you get an ice?”

    The two young ladies reddened and looked at each other timidly, and Lady Jane then revealed that they had not: the gentlemen had been so very busy talking.

    “Well, this will not do! We shall see what can be managed!”

    In a very short space of time she managed Lord Welling into procuring ices. There was only the peppermint left, for the strawberry had vanished very fast, and then there had been a run on the lemon, as well. But the two young ladies ate it with great pleasure, even though Lady Jane was at least twenty-six years of age and almost verging upon that dreadful state of being left on the shelf. And Muzzie, as she naïvely confessed, had never had an ice before! And was it not cold? But wonderful! Welling immediately bounded off and fetched her another.

    Lady Lavinia then managed all the young ladies off to freshen up. Though Lord Rockingham did not neglect to remind Gaetana, as she went, of the promised waltz.

    Gaetana had the distinct feeling that she would not in any case have been allowed to forget it, with his aunt in charge of her. She also had a distinct feeling that she did not want to forget it, for her heart was beating very fast indeed in anticipation.