Wedding Bells

37

Wedding Bells

    The sun shone for Francisco’s wedding, albeit in a watery sky, and the faces of the main participants shone even more brightly. As, indeed, did Miss Elinor Ainsley’s, though she had expressed disapproval at the discovery that her Aunt Patty and her four elder cousins had not arrived for it. It was easy enough to explain that Tom was still at the university and could not leave his studies but, the family discovered, rather more difficult to explain why Hal had not bothered to travel from the Dawses’, nor Mrs Maddern, Miss Maddern and Miss Amabel to desert the London milliners and dressmakers for the occasion.

    Nor had Major Kernohan made the journey from Beaubois House, though Mr Dorian and Mr Roly were both present. Having to look to his house was not of course sufficient justification for the Major’s failing to grace the ceremony. Luís did say something feeble about the size of the village church in Dittersford, but was immediately squashed scornfully. And the Major could have sung! Her relatives could only agree limply that, had the Major come, he could have sung.

    Then, she discovered as they entered the little church, the Marquis was not there, either. At this point Lady Ainsley herself had to be appealed to, for Bunch’s face was very red and angry and, in spite of the fact that she had earlier been permitted to arrange a large nosegay in Francisco’s buttonhole, her lower lip had become very wobbly.

    “Querida, the Marquis of Rockingham ith a great gentleman: the peathants would be quite overcome if he were to grace a little village wedding with hith prethence. It would be the opposite of kind: it would be very cruel,” she said in her usual serene way. “And you note your Tio Pedro ith not come, for the same reathon.”

    Bunch gulped. “Oh.”

    Everybody was so relieved to see that this had apparently sunk in that nobody mentioned the fact that in England it was not precisely customary to say “peasants.”

    “Now, my lamb, sit here at the end where you can see,” added Lady Ainsley, as the family filed into its pew. “—What is the English word for an aisle?” she added on a cross note in Spanish.

    “Aisle,” said Bunch, before anyone else could speak.

    “No! That ith isola!” she said in astonishment.

    “Madre, it is a different word with a different spelling; I will explain later,” said Paul across Cousin Sophia and his father.

    “Don’t bother, she’ll have forgotten all about it,” said the baronet comfortably. “Well, the old pew has not changed, I see!” he added jovially.

    There was a certain pause.

    “We should have come to church on Sunday, y’know,” he said, shaking his head. “The people expect it.”

    Luís was driven to clutch his curls, forgetting he had previously spent twenty minutes in achieving the required artful disarray, muttering madly to himself. Next to him Dorian shook helplessly and at the far end of the row Roly also shook helplessly.

    After quite some time Paul managed to say: “No-one would have expected you and Madre to attend church the morning after your arrival, sir, not on top of such a long journey. But certainly we shall all come in future, should you wish it.”

    “Indeed. The dear girls and I usually attend.” said Cousin Sophia on a nervous note.

    “Oh, aye. It’ll please the Vicar, too. What’s his name, again?”

    “Stalling,” said Paul patiently. He had already told Sir Harry this three times.

    “Oh, aye. –Here, l wonder that he consented to do it, y’know!” he said with a wink. “For if old Francisco ain’t crossed a church threshold these last thirty years, he was baptized a Roman Catholic, y’know!”

    “That’s why he had to wait so long,” said Bunch, amazed that her father should not instantly have divined this.

    “Eh?”

    “Que dit-elle?” said Marinela.

    “Parle anglais, veux-tu!” he retorted hotly. “Thin end of the wedge: I know her,” he muttered.

    Paul endeavoured to explain to his father that Mr Stalling had, of course, been horrified to learn that Francisco was a Roman Catholic—lapsed, but that did not apparently make it better—and that Francisco had had to agree to be initiated into the Anglican faith before the Vicar would consent to perform the ceremony. Francisco had agreed to this proposition with the cheerful indifference of the natural atheist. But, as Paul did not neglect to explain—considerately in French, not only so as Marinela could understand, and Cousin Sophia would not have to sit there uncomprehending, but also so as the people in the pew behind would not understand—this point had never struck the Vicar.

    Next to Paul, Gaetana shook helplessly throughout this recital, and next to her, Hildy did also. Naturally Luís, at Hildy’s other hand, also shook. Most unfortunately Dorian and Roly did not have sufficient French to follow the narrative and Luís for the nonce was incapable of translating for them. They remained baffled.

    Bunch said pleasedly at the end of it: “Sí. And then the-Vicar was enabled to read the banns, is that not correct, Paul?”

    “Sí, sí.”

    “And strangely enough,” hissed Luís to his peers: “no-one objected, though the girl can only just be turned sixteen!” Dorian and Roly shook helplessly.

    “Tell those fellows,” said Sir Harry with a frown to his oldest son across Cousin Sophia, but in a very much lowered voice: “that that will not do.”

    “Indeed, sir.” Paul rose and solemnly, though not without difficulty, squeezed past his sister’s and cousin’s knees and addressed Luís and his boon companions in a low voice. There were a few muffled snorts, but after that, that end of the pew managed to pull itself together.

    Francisco’s supporters from the Manor were, of course, out in full force. The entire household had been told they might attend. Those who usually attended church would normally sit at the back, but for the wedding they had ail come up to the front. As had those who normally did not attend, chief amongst whom was Berthe, in a voluminous beaded black cloak and a gigantic purple bonnet over a gigantic cap. The purple bonnet was made gay by the addition of some very crimson silk roses, a large bunch of artificial cherries, and a strange black plume which Bunch had privily declared to Hildy to be from a choucas. After recourse to the dictionary Hildy had cried that it could not possibly be jackdaw, and Luís had explained that no, that was a family joke, and it was actually off a black rooster they had once had. And had originally been the bonnet’s only decoration. Oh, that and the steel buckle. Which perhaps Hildy had missed, it was lurkin’ behind that larger rose—see? Hildy had been about to say something very sharp to him, but Lady Ainsley had then murmured that she had brought Berthe a new bonnet from Spain, very fine, of black silk with most elegant black and purple ostrich feathers on it, but Berthe had put it aside, saying it was too grand for a mere guest but might be used on another occasion. They had looked at her wildly but Marinela had merely nodded serenely.

    It was scarcely a surprize, then, that Mr Simpkins from the village tavern was also there—though on the bride’s, not the groom’s side. Very smart, in buckled breeches and a blue coat of astonishing brightness. And tightness. Worn with a bright yellow neckcloth and a nosegay in the buttonhole. And also in force, in that he was accompanied by an almost unrecognizable Abby. Abby’s head, which the onlookers perceived dazedly had almost the appearance of having been washed, for her hair now revealed itself to be not dull fawn but a light blonde, was half veiled by a bent straw bonnet which was brightened by a green ribbon, undoubtedly new. And under a very small shawl her body was clothed by—

    “That girl is wearing my old dress!” gasped Elinor Ainsley as the party from the tavern took their seats, Mr Simpkins beaming, bowing and scraping to the Ainsley pew and ordering his aide, in a loud hiss, to do likewise, was you mannerless as well as witless, lass? Aye, and it were Sir Harry hisself, and sit down!

    “Ssh, querida,” said Marinela, laying a hand on her arm. “Gaetana hath told me she giveth the dress to the aubergiste for the little girl. She is...”

    “An orphan,” said her spouse heavily. “You know that word.”

    “Enfant trouvé?” she said to him.

    “No!”

    Marinela shrugged. “Orpheline,” she said to Bunch, nodding.

    “Dearest, it had become much too small for you,” said Mrs Goodbody, leaning forward.

    Bunch scowled.

    “Must be the little girl that belongs to Berthe’s admirer, hey?” said Sir Harry, not altogether quietly.

    “Then she is not orpheline,” said Miss Elinor promptly.

    Sir Harry drew a deep breath.

    “Bunch,” said Paul very quietly, leaning forward: “that little girl’s parents are both dead and although Mr Simpkins from the tavern has given her a home, she has to work all day for her living. I think we cannot grudge her an old dress.”

    Bunch went on scowling.

    “Perhaps you would care to step outside and discuss the matter further?” he said in a steely voice.

    “No!” she gulped, very red.

    Her relatives looked at her uncertainly.

    After a moment she said: “I have got three dresses at school that are too short. Well, almost. I suppose she could have those.”

    “That is very proper in you, my dear!” approved Mrs Goodbody, beaming.

    Lady Ainsley quietly pointed out some more villagers who had come in and asked Bunch if she knew who they were, and the moment passed. But certain people reflected that, if perhaps Bunch did deserve some punishment for having run away from her school, the discovery that Berthe might marry and transfer her affections from the family was really a little more than even she had deserved. And that perhaps she could not be blamed for begrudging little Abby her old dress.

    Since Miss Polly Higgs was the bride the Higgs tribe was there in force. As were the Adamses and those Cumminses who had migrated from Daynesford, for they were all close connexions. However, there were few Pringles present and as Sir Harry did not fail jovially to remark, it looked as if the old feuds were still active!

    “Why, that is Cummins, surely?” murmured Hildy in Gaetana’s ear.

    “From Top Farm?” she said, not looking. “Yes. Polly’s mother is a cousin. I believe.”

    “Not Bob Cummins: the Marquis’s groom,” said Hildy.

    Gaetana swallowed, and glanced round. Immediately Cummins, beaming all over his square, blond Saxon face, bowed very low. The old lady on his arm, resplendent in black silk from her head to her toe, also beamed, and curtseyed. Gaetana swallowed again, and inclined her head. Hildy smiled and waved cheerfully.

    “Who are they?” murmured Dorian, leaning forward. “The old lady bears an astounding resemblance to the Marquis.”

    “Er—mm,” said Hildy, gulping, what time Luís’s shoulders shook. “They are mother and son. The man is the Marquis’s head groom. Well, his personal groom, I suppose.”

    Dorian raised his eyebrows very high.

    “Aye!” gasped Luís.

    “Ssh,” said Hildy, frowning at him.

    Gaetana leaned forward. “It is not amusing,” she said coldly.

    “Er—no, Miss Ainsley!” said Dorian promptly, very startled, and flushing up a little. “I beg your pardon.”

    “No, I beg yours, Mr Dorian,” she said, very grim. “I meant to address my brother.”

    “Of course it’s amusing!” said Luís. “The Marquis’s grandfather—” he began.

    Paul leaned forward. “That will do, Luís.”

    Luís reddened, and subsided.

    Meanwhile, the organ, which had all this time been playing softly, now got a little louder, and Francisco and Jake took up their places before the altar.

    “What is Jake doing there?” asked Bunch in amaze. “He is not to be married today too, is he?”

    “No, no: best man!” said Sir Harry testily across his dumbfounded spouse.

    “What?” said Bunch blankly.

    Marinela gulped. “My dear, of course she has never been to a wedding,” she said limply to Sir Harry in Spanish. “I never thought to explain the ceremony.”

    “Er—nor I. Well, she’ll soon pick it up!” he said bracingly. “Uh—speak English,” he added lamely, switching to that language.

    “My dear Elinor,” said Mrs Goodbody quietly across him and Marinela: “the groom has always his groomsman, or best man, as he is called, just as the bride would have a bridesmaid.”

    “Oh,” she said, nodding. “Is that why Jake has a posy in his buttonhole?”

    “Yes, that is it,” she said, smiling at her.

    “But where is Mrs Giles?” said Bunch in bewilderment.

    Mrs Goodbody just looked at her helplessly.

    “Bunch, querida, she doeth not have to—to be in this ceremony, just becoth she ith the fiancée of Jake,” said Marinela, somewhat limply.

    “Oh. Well, I think that’s silly!”

    “Look, there she is, up behind us,” said Sir Harry helpfully, having twisted about and peered.

    Bunch twisted about and peered. “Oh, yes! She has her good black silk bonnet on! –She always wears that bonnet on Sundays, even in summer, only it is not her Sunday bonnet,” she explained: “it is just her good bonnet.”

    Marinela and Harry exchanged glances.

    “Her other bonnet is her everyday bonnet. –I don’t see why she could not be Polly’s bridesmaid,” Bunch then noted.

    “They are not nearly related, my dear,” said the kindly Mrs Goodbody. “It is usually sisters or cousins, or perhaps close girlhood friends, who are one’s bridesmaids.”

    “I see. Cousin Sophia, were you Tia Patty’s bridesmaid?”

    “Well, not precisely, my dear,” she said with a little laugh, “for I was married before her, you know! But I was her matron of honour!”

    “What’s that?” she asked immediately.

    Sir Harry groaned, folded his arms upon his chest and let his chin sink into his neckcloth. Marinela spoke to him reprovingly but he did not react. Meanwhile, Cousin Sophia was gamely attempting to explain to Bunch what precisely a matron of honour was. Finally Bunch appeared to grasp it, for she said pleasedly: “Ah! Of course, a married lady is not a maid!”

    Sir Harry’s shoulders shook silently.

    “Precisely, my dear,” said Cousin Sophia, very limply.

    “How strange it will be for Polly, to sleep in Francisco’s bed. He kicks, you know. And snores,” she noted.

    “Er—mm; that’ll do!” said Sir Harry, hastily coming to.

    Cousin Sophia was still looking at Bunch in bewilderment when most fortunately the Vicar appeared and this distracted her. The organ then got very much louder, there was a stir at the door, in the front pew Mrs Higgs burst into noisy tears, and Polly Higgs appeared, very grand in bronze wool with a new shawl and new brown bonnet, wreathed for the occasion in flowers which had certainly not come from the Manor’s embryo conservatory, but which might have had something to do with the fact that Matthew Adams of Willow Court was a near connexion of that branch of the Higgses, and carrying a small posy of mixed chrysanthemums. And accompanied by her next sister, Cassy, and her smallest sister, Gertie. The former hissing at the latter to hold up Polly’s skirt like you learned up!

    They all progressed down the aisle in a bunch and though Polly’s new bonnet had a little veil, it was plain to be seen through it that her round pink face was as filled with happiness as was Francisco’s wrinkled, monkey-like one. He had turned right round in order to watch her: perhaps the Vicar had omitted to inform him that that did not form part of the Anglican ceremony.

    Various persons did not neglect to weep copiously throughout the ceremony, amongst them of course Mrs Higgs, but also Berthe and Melia Adams; the latter, apparently classing herself for the occasion as Manor staff, not Higgs connexion, had placed herself at her large preceptress’s side. Melia was wearing a cut-down dress of Amabel’s but perhaps fortunately Bunch did not remark this.

    At the conclusion of the ceremony Mrs Goodbody, Marinela, Gaetana and Hildy all had their handkerchiefs out and Bunch said in amaze: “Why is everybody bawling? They’re happy!”

    “Sí!” said her mother, laughing and sniffing. “That ith why!”

    “Indeed!” agreed Mrs Goodbody, smiling and sighing. “Is it not sweet?”

    “Aye, but you don’t need to bawl over it, Cousin Sophia! –What do you say at a wedding?” she hissed hoarsely as the couple prepared to progress down the aisle, Francisco unaffectedly picking up the small Gertie Higgs, who had apparently entirely lost track of what she was supposed to be doing, and setting her on the shoulder that was not supporting the blushing bride.

    “‘Good luck’ would do,” said Sir Harry mildly, as the female members of the family just stared blankly.

    Bunch nodded and, bouncing up as Francisco and Polly came up to their pew, cried loudly: “Good luck, Francisco, querido! Good luck, Polly!”

    Polly blushed and beamed and bobbed, while Francisco, not to certain persons’ astonishment, burst into tears and went down on one knee.

    “Get up, why are you bawling? I only said ‘Good luck!’” said Bunch.

    Francisco sobbed out a complicated speech in Spanish.

    Bunch replied on a disgusted note in that language. Lady Ainsley made soothing noises and allowed Francisco to kiss her hand. Francisco then looked up pleadingly at Sir Harry and said something to him, but the baronet replied crossly—in English: “No, you damned well can’t! We’re in England, now!” Francisco then turned his attention to “Señor Paul” and Paul calmly rose and allowed his hand to be kissed, wishing the pair all the luck in the world—first in Spanish and then, for Polly’s benefit, in English.

    After that Francisco apparently felt much better, for the tears dried up. He rose to his feet, picked up his very new sister-in-law again, took his bride on his other arm, and resumed his progress down the aisle.

    The Ainsleys and their party did not escape from the environs of the church for some time, for not only did Mr Stalling have to be introduced to Sir Harry and Lady Ainsley, all the villagers of course had to come up and welcome him home. Which they appeared to do with genuine pleasure, his many years’ neglect of the Ainsley lands notwithstanding. One or two persons noted silently that it was highly unfair, but then, Harry had ever a knack of making himself loved.

    Finally they were free to go home to the celebrations, and Hildy and Gaetana accepted an invitation from Mrs Urqhart, whose plumed scarlet watered silk could have been observed at intervals during the ceremony nodding pleasedly from The Towers’ pew, to join her and Jo in their barouche.

    “I give you three guesses, me dears, as to whose nose will be out of joint this day!” she said, chuckling.

    “Whose?” asked Bunch eagerly. She had not been precisely invited to join them: she had invited herself. Seeing Mrs Urqhart welcome her warmly, Marinela had let her, for she wanted to have a serious talk with Harry about just how much they might persuade Mrs Giles to accept from them in the way of bride-clothes. Not to mention Jake, for as Sir Harry had already noted glumly, even if she was agreeable, it was ten to one the fellow would go all stiff-necked on them. At which times, he had not neglected to remind his spouse, he looked more like Sir Vyvyan than you would believe.

    “Well, guess!” said Mrs Urqhart, still chuckling.

    “Mrs Purdue’s?” said Bunch dubiously. Johanna choked.

    “Not this time, me deary.”

    “Um... Well, you have permitted Bapsee to come. I know! Ranjit!” she cried.

    “No, he didn’t wish to come, me love, acos he’s more religious than her, and would not come into a Christian church.”

    “Oh,” she said blankly.

    “Now, whose nose could it—? Not Mrs Dean’s?” choked Gaetana.

    “Huh! Her! We druv into Ditterminster t’other day, did we not. Jo? And we goes to the finest silk warehouse as the place has—which is not sayin’ much, me dears—and there she is, just a-comin’ out as we is goin’ in. And looked down her nose at us like nobody’s business! Only just then out comes Lady Dezzie and Miss Girardon and Miss Hobbs, and Lady Dezzie don’t take no more notice of the Llewellyn-Jones creature than if she had been a fly on the wall, and says how delighted she is to see us, and invites us to take tea at the Place on the spot! I nigh to bust my stays, a tryin’ not to laugh!”

    “Hurray for Lady Dezzie!” cried Hildy, her cheeks very pink.

    “Yes: hurray!” cried Bunch fiercely. “And death to Mrs Dean!”

    “Er—well, I dunno as I’d go that far,” said the old lady limply.

    “Very well: ignore to Mrs Dean!” said Gaetana, laughing.

    “Aye, I’ll wish her that, and welcome!” she choked.

    “Ignore to Mrs Dean! Hurray for Lady Dezzie!” cried Bunch.

    “But whose nose is it, Mrs Urqhart?” pursued Hildy. “l confess I am quite at a loss.”

    Mrs Urqhart arranged her elaborate bracelets with a wry look on her face. “I’ll give you a hint. It was one as said she did not see what I was a-fussin’ over flowers for the church for, for a mere servant’s wedding. And wouldn’t permit her poor little daughter to attend, what never has a moment’s fun from one month to another, far’s I can see.”

    After a moment Gaetana said uncertainly: “Lady Charleson?”

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed. “Not a bad guess. ’Cept she would not ’a’ been talkin’ to me, you know. She has told Miss Muzzle not to visit.”

    “We know,” said Gaetana, looking very red and cross. “It is so unjustified!”

    “Nay, well, I did sort of—well, you might say,” she said with a naughty twinkle in her eye, “set her up, with Sir Ned.”

    Gaetana’s and Hildy’s jaws dropped.

    “Well, I could not see Noël fail into her clutches without putting up a struggle, you know!” she said airily.

    “Aunt Betsy—” said Jo uneasily, looking at Hildy’s face.

    “Lor’ bless you, they is old enough to understand! And sensible enough to take it in their strides! Aye, me dears,” she said, nodding at their two astonished faces: “it was my idea as Ned should pursue the Widder of Willer Court to make her give up on Noël; and once the boy was safe, he dropped her like a hot potato, o’ course.”

    Hildy was incapable of speech. Gaetana managed weakly: “Then—then it was not largely in Lady Charleson’s imagination?”

    “Eh?” she choked. “Bless you, no! What, did you think she had taken to her bed for an attack of the imaginations?”

    “Well—largely, yes. Though Luís did maintain there was more to it,” she said numbly.

    “Yes,” croaked Hildy, goggling at the old lady.

    “Aye, well, take me word for it, there was more to it! Ned led her on, all right and tight, the rascal!” she said, chuckling.

    “Then he went back to London, didn’t he?” said Bunch. “That was when he dropped her like a hot potato.”

    Several people had forgotten little pitchers were present, and they winced.

    “Uh—yes,” said Mrs Urqhart weakly. “That’s right, me lovey. Once Noël had got the idea as she didn’t favour him after all, Ned went home.”

    “When Sir Noël was safe: yes,” she said, nodding.

    Jo was in agony. “Dearest Aunt Betsy, could we not change the subject?”

    “Er—aye,” she said, eyeing Bunch uneasily, but that young maiden appeared totally unmoved.

    “Mrs Urqhart,” said Hildy limply: “you are a complete Machiavel.”

    “That is what Jo said,” she replied composedly, “only I dunno as I understands it more now than I did then!” She shook all over.

    “You—you truly do believe the end justifies the means, do you not?” said Hildy numbly.

    “Er... well. I thought as we was more or less agreed on that, me love?” she returned uneasily.

    “Yes,” said Hildy, swallowing. “But to see it in action!”

    Mrs Urqhart reflected thankfully that she hadn’t seen most of it. And rather wished she had not opened her big mouth.

    “It was rather cruel, was it not?” said Gaetana, swallowing.

    “Worked, though, dinnit?” she replied with a sniff. “The woman’s been keeping to her room this last month.”

    Suddenly Gaetana went into a gale of laughter. Hildy immediately followed suit.

    Johanna sagged where she sat; and, to say truth, Mrs Urqhart did also. It was not, of course, that she minded revealing her true nature to the two girls, for evidently they had had a pretty good idea of it in any case. No, but she had feared the story might disillusion Hildy about Sir Ned and then some. Not that she wasn’t glad Hildy had now fallen for the Major. Only to find your former idol had feet of clay was not a pleasant sensation.

    Bunch had not perceived what the joke was. After a little she said: “We have had more than our three guesses. May I guess again?”

    Mrs Urqhart nodded numbly.

    “It must be Mrs Stalling,” she said with narrowed eyes. “She is the only candidate left who might take an interest in the church flowers and has a poor little daughter who never has fun.”

    “Bless her!” she cried. “What a mind!”

    “Yes, it’s as logical as Hildy’s,” said Gaetana, smiling.

    “Aye, out of course you are right, my lamb,” said Mrs Urqhart to Bunch’s anxious face. “Mrs Stalling it were. She come into the church when Bapsee and me had brought over a load of flowers from the conservatory, you see. And poor little Linny begged to attend, only she would not have it.”

    Bunch beamed. “I win!”

    “But why should her nose be out of joint?” said Gaetana,

    “Gaetana!” cried Bunch, horrified at this denseness.

    “Bless you, me love! Acos she has missed out on meeting your pa and ma, which the whole village has done!”

    “Of course!” cried Bunch scornfully.

    “Evidently,” agreed Hildy with a smile.

    “Quite,” agreed Jo, dark eyes twinkling.

    “I shall get back at the two of you,” she promised. “Let me see... I shall urge Mr Roly to write a rustick ballad in Hildy’s honour,”—they choked—“and... Mr Dorian to tie his neckcloth in a Waterfall in Jo’s honour!” She and Hildy both broke down in giggles.

    Jo went very red. “Dear Gaetana, you cannot mean—”

    “He has a tendre for you. Silly, isn’t it?” noted Miss Elinor Ainsley. “Mr Roly said to him the night I got home that that portrait of the lady in the red dress in the study reminded him of someone, and Mr Dorian said it was you, but Mr Roly said the lady was prettier. And Mr Dorian got very cross, and Mr Roly laughed and said he still had a tendre for you, then.”

    “The Lely,” noted Hildy weakly. “Yes, she does resemble Jo.”

    “Little pitchers,” noted Mrs Urqhart weakly.

    “Sí. We apologize for her, Jo,” said Gaetana uneasily. “And—and I apologize for what I said.”

    “No, please...” Jo made a wavering gesture with her right hand. After a moment she said in a tight voice: “I think this is a jest, is it not?”

    The two older girls looked at Mrs Urqhart in dismay, and Bunch began to scowl at having her word doubted.

    “Well, no, my lovey,” said the old lady uneasily: “it’s pretty clear he does admire you. But there is no need to get up in the boughs over it, these fancies come and go, with young gentlemen. And very like it will be another lady entirely, by next Season.”

    “I certainly hope so,” said Jo weakly.

    “You believe me, don’t you?” said Bunch to Mrs Urqhart.

    “Yes, out of course I do, me love, acos I has observed it with me own eyes. But hush, we’re upsettin’ Jo.”

    “Why? I thought ladies wanted beaux,” she said, very puzzled.

   “Yes, but perhaps that merely proves,” said Jo, starting to smile, “that I am not truly a lady!”

    “Is she a lady?” said Bunch to Mrs Urqhart, sotto voce.

    “Not quite yet, I’d say!” she hissed, shoulders shaking. Bunch did not observe the shoulders; she nodded, satisfied.

    They had reached the Manor gates when Bunch, who had become very thoughtful, fixed Mrs Urqhart with a hard eye and said: “I know who you remind me of.”

    “Bunch—” warned Gaetana.

    “No, let her, me dear,” said the old lady, prepared to be amused. “Who, me lovey?”

    “Le Chat botté,” she said firmly.

    Gaetana and Hildy gulped; Jo gave a little gasp and put her hand to her mouth.

    “Bunch, deary, I don’t understand that furrin’ talk.”

    “Oh! Puss in Boots,” translated Miss Elinor kindly.

    Mrs Urqhart rolled an enquiring eye at the girls.

    “He—he was the complete schemer,” said Gaetana, very weakly.

    “One of the greatest Machiavels in literature, indeed,” said Hildy, swallowing.

    “You recall, Aunt Betsy. The story is in one of the volumes in Uncle Urqhart’s library. His master was the—the Marquis of Carabas,” said Jo with only a very slight tremor in her voice, “and Puss got him out of all sorts of trouble.”

    “More than that!” said Bunch scornfully. She reminded Mrs Urqhart of the full cunning of the booted cat. A broad smile gradually spread over the old lady’s features. “It’s a compliment,” Bunch finished earnestly. “Very few mere mortals have the cunning of Le Chat botté.”

    “Exact!” she gasped, breaking down completely. She laughed all the rest of the way up the drive.

    “Is it not splendid?” concluded Miss Elinor Ainsley, beaming, as the barouche drew up outside the front door. “Now we have found a real Marquis de Carabas and a real Chat botté!”

    “Aunt Betsy is most truly a genuine Chat botté!” beamed Johanna. “I shall write it to Papa this very evening!”

    “Aye, he will like it. Only I dare swear as he has never heard of the fairy story, my love: you had best send him that volume of Pumps’s.”

    “I shall,” she said, twinkling.

    “Gaetana, don’t you think?” urged Bunch, as her sister remained silent.

    “No,” she said, frowning. “Oh, of course I grant you Mrs Urqhart, she is Le Chat botté incarnate; but the Marquis of Rockingham bears no resemblance whatsoever to the Marquis de Carabas, and only an idiot or a child could imagine that he does!” The steps had been let down: she got out of the carriage, scowling.

    “I’m NOT!” wailed Bunch.

    Hildy put an arm round her. “Hush, of course you are not. But Lord Rockingham is rather more than a Marquis de Carabas.”

    “Ain’t he, though?” noted Mrs Urqhart in a very neutral voice.—Hildy swallowed.— “Hop down, Bunch, lovey.”

    When the little girl had run inside she said to the two young ladies, slowly gathering her wraps together: “It is my belief his Lordship is in this Prince Regent thing up to his ears.”

    Hildy gulped. “Yes, it does seem so.”

    “Absolutely,” agreed Jo, swallowing. “Will—will it answer, though?”

    “Apparently,” said Hildy on a grim note: “not unless the Prince Regent also favours my uncle with a medal. Or so Gaetana herself said to me.”

    “Lumme,” said Mrs Urqhart faintly.

    “Possibly the Marquis has thought of that,” said Jo faintly.

    “Aye, well, depends on whether he’s a complete Mac-Whatsit or only part of a one, don’t it?” noted the old lady.

    “Yes. But—but Gaetana is so very annoyed over the whole thing...” said Hildy faintly.

    “Aye. –What is that volume Hildy lent you that you was so struck on, deary?” she suddenly asked Jo.

    Johanna gulped. “Pride and Prejudice,” she said, very faintly.

    “That’s it. I would urge Gaetana to re-read it, if I was you,” she said drily to Hildy. “Acos from what Jo, here, was a-tellin’ me, it is certain-sure an object lesson in how silly pride can come between two people what is made for each other!”

    Of course it was much, much more than that. But Hildy could only manage, in a hollow voice, as they went into the house: “Indeed.”

    “So, tell me all about it!” said Major Kernohan with a laugh as his brothers came into the big, warm kitchen after the wedding celebrations and Dorian threw himself with a sigh into the armchair their father had sent to Aurry.

    “You should have come, Aurry! It was beyond anything great!” said Roly eagerly. sitting down in a smaller chair and commencing to tug at his boots. Dollery, who had been examining something in a kettle over the fire, came and relieved him of the task.

    “We had thought,” said Dorian with a twinkle in his eye. “that it would be—er—très villageois.”

    The Major nodded.

    “Well, it was,” said Roly. “And by the by, any time he gets too flowery with his damned French phrases,” he said to Aurry: “you may remind him that he never understood a word of what Paul Ainsley was sayin’ in the church, either!”

    “He speaks it like a damned native,” said Dorian, grinning.

    “So I would suppose. Though you note I refrain from asking why he was speaking it in the Dittersford village church.”

    “Yes, we are noting that!” choked Roland. “No, well, he just wished to say something to his family that the people in the pew behind would not understand: they were all villagers.”

    “Quite. Since it was to be a villageois occasion,” he noted.

    “Ah, yes! But as well, it had the Spanish touch!” choked Dorian.

    “So the man did sing?” said Aurry, lips twitching.

    “Yes, but not only that!” cried Roly. “I say, ain’t it a damned racket, though?”—His brothers nodded, though the Major with a distinct irony about him which the innocent Roland did not perceive.—“No, but you see, Don Pedro and Don Carlos had brought a load of Spanish servants—oh, and Lady Ainsley had a maid, and she had brought a maid for her daughter, I think that was the story; anyway, there was a load of ’em, Aurry!”

    “They all sang,” he noted.

    “N— Well, yes, only that ain’t the point, dear fellow!”

    “It is partly the point,” murmured Dorian.

    “Yes, yes: there was Spanish singing and dancing, it was quite something,” he said testily.

    “Oh, I see! Et villageois, et espagnol?”

    Roly hurled a boot at him, which the Major, grinning, caught neatly in his left hand.

    “Well, go on,” said Dorian tolerantly. “Weren’t you going to tell Aurry about the food and drink?”

    “I am! Um—well, of course I don’t know all the names of the dishes, but you never saw anything like it, Aurry! They had it in the servants’ hall, and the whole place was bedecked with bunting, and just endless dishes of—well, every form of meat and game you care to name; and the sauces!” He rolled his eyes.

    “Mm, wonderful. Miss Ainsley was telling me the Spanish receets favour thickening them with fine-ground nuts.” said Dorian.

    “Yes, or bread,” agreed Aurry.

    “Bread?” they said.

    “So I believe.”

    “These was too rich for bread, she had definitely used nuts,” said Roly. “And wine and sherry and port and brandy, there was never anything like it, Aurry!”

    “To drink?”

    “NO!” he shouted,

    “Yes,” murmured Dorian.

    “Er—well, yes, of course; and cider and beer as well for the people: I did not mean— You are doing this on purpose!” he discovered, very flushed.

    “Aye: heave t’other boot at him, Mr Roly,” advised Dollery, grinning.

    “Dollery, I wish you had come,” said Roly eagerly. “It was beyond anything: what with all the food and the drink and the dancing and singing! I have never had such fun in my life! And everybody danced with everybody: why, at one stage Sir Harry was dancin’ with the fat old cook, and Lady Ainsley with the bridegroom!”

    “Not me, if the Major was a-goin’ to work,” Dollery said sturdily.

    Roly bit his lip.

    “But he will definitely come to the next one: Mr Ainsley has invited him most particularly!” said Aurry, smiling. He came across to the fireplace with two skinned and cleaned rabbits and put them on the spit. “I dare say you two will not be wanting any of these,” he noted.

    Roland bit immediately. “What? We have had a dashed long ride, old boy! Not to mention all that dancing!”

    “Yes: his yaller curls were a great hit with the Spanish maidservants,” drawled Dorian.

    “Pooh, you danced as much as I!”

    Dollery immediately offered to remove Mr Dorian’s boots, also. Smiling, Dorian handed him his own silk handkerchief and begged he would use it to protect the polish as he did so. Shaking his head, Dollery nonetheless obeyed.

    “May I continue?” said Roland, pouting. “Or shall we just all sit here and worship Dorian’s boots?”

    “Yes, continue, dear lad!” replied Aurry, laughing a little. “Tell me all! So they had many fine Spanish sauces; what else?”

    Roly detailed to the best of his ability the amazing splendours of the laden tables with their mounds of bright yellow saffron rice, their shining ragoûts, their splendid roasts—including several whole young pigs and he did not know what had been done to them, but something delicious had flavoured ’em—and strange dishes of fish that he had been reluctant to try but which were almost the nicest of all, and vegetables done in all sorts of cunning ways; baskets and baskets of shiny bright rolls and loaves, some scattered with little seeds, some with salt and diced onion; spiced apples and shiny glazed pies; fruit tarts, almond tarts and treacle tarts galore; huge spiced cakes laden with marzipan; great bowls of syllabubs and creams, towers of blancmangers, pink, white and pale green, all ornamented with little figurines and nuts and cashoos until they looked like fairy palaces in miniature; and dishes of the most exotic little sweetmeats he had ever encountered!

    “Many of those were Indian, contributed by Mrs Urqhart,” explained Dorian.

    “Well, it all sounds wonderful, indeed!” said Aurry, smiling. “I shall very much look forward to the next one.”

    “I dare say it may not be half as much fun,” noted Roly dubiously. “The agent, y’know. Lady Ainsley was sayin’ they plan to open up the ballroom for it.”

    “No, I dare say you will not get to dance with the pretty little Spanish maidservants again,” noted Dorian.

    Crying: “No, nor you with the village shopkeeper, neither!” Mr Roland threw the second boot at him.

    Aurry laughed very much. But later he did not neglect to have a few private words with Roly, which confirmed. rather to his surprize but certainly to his pleasure, that Dorian, far from being above his company, had thrown himself into the spirit of the thing and as well as dancing with such notables as Mrs Luke Adams from the tiny shop in Lower Dittersford, had danced also with everyone else from Lady Ainsley down to the kitchenmaids. Not excluding Mrs Urqhart, Bapsee, and Madame Berthe.

    Neither Jake Pringle nor Mrs Giles would have wished for anything more than a very quiet celebration of their nuptials: they were neither of them in the first blush of youth; she, after all, was a widow; and both of them were persons who did not care to put themselves forward in any way. However, though Paul would certainly have been willing to abide by Jake’s wishes, it was not to be hoped that Sir Harry would settle for anything less than what he himself termed a “bang-up affair” to celebrate the wedding of his agent and cousin. Fortunately Jake had long since recognized as much and was reconciled to it. If Mrs Giles was in a torment of shyness over the thing, no-one knew it but herself. Though Jake possibly had guessed, to judge by the number of comforting hugs in quiet corners he felt compelled to give her in as the dread day drew nigh.

    Mrs Maddern and her two older daughters were the first of the family to arrive for the celebrations. Their arrival was immediately followed by immense scenes of weeping and hugging and unpacking of wonderful parcels from Spain; and weeping and hugging and unpacking of more wonderful parcels from Spain; and more weeping and hugging and unpacking of both girls’ trousseaux, what was not still in the hands of the dressmakers, milliners and, it must be admitted in Christabel’s case, furrier; and more weeping and—

    It was not long at all before Hildy and Gaetana felt compelled to take a very long walk over the hills.

    Bunch celebrated the augmentation of the family party by getting herself caught poaching in the Marquis’s stream by his gamekeeper: not just an ordinary gamekeeper, which would have been bad enough, but his head gamekeeper, a person of ferocious reputation in the neighbourhood, and being brought home in disgrace by the ferocious one himself. She was not much comforted by being told privily by Gaetana, Hildegarde and, oddly, Don Carlos, that her action had been wholly understandable in the circumstances. Luís had said it publicly, but then, the whole family was agreed, he had no tact.

    Luís in fact took to rising even earlier than was his wont and escaping to Carlos’s dower house. The which was habitable as to walls and roof but not as to furniture, all that which had once belonged to it having, rather understandably, been transferred to the new dower house a couple of generations earlier. Carlos was not, therefore, actually living in it as yet, but he also had certainly taken to all-day—well, lurking would not have been too strong a term, really—all-day lurking therein, on days on which Sir Clinton or Mr Purdue would not be out or for which Luís had not a shooting expedition planned.

    It might have been supposed, with the advent of Mrs Maddern, that certain disputes over territory, even if covert, might have arisen at the Manor, for there were, of course, now three middle-aged ladies in the house with some claim to its reins. But Marinela on her arrival had told Cousin Sophia frankly that she was not interested in domestic things and was looking forward to a complete rest from them, and the responsibility was still all Mrs Goodbody’s, should she wish for it; and similarly, on Cousin Sophia’s resigning the reins into Mrs Maddern’s hands, promptly assured her of this. It did not take the two English ladies long at all to perceive that the lack of interest was in no wise spurious and that in fact, while they themselves were not averse to a quiet rest in the afternoons, in the intervals of sewing, mending, inspecting and replenishing the stillroom, settling menus with Berthe, and other housewifely matters, Marinela was more than happy to spend half the afternoon with her feet up, drinking tea, and the other half frankly asleep. The which, Sir Harry assured them in his breezy way, was quite her normal custom: never had been much interested in darning and stuff. Left all that to the housekeeper. Eh? Oh, yes, she had a most reliable woman at home in Spain, one who had known her from her childhood, no need to worry about that! They had not been worried, precisely, but they could not help feeling it was just as well that the housekeeper in question had been acquainted with Lady Ainsley that long.

    The two English ladies were not, of course, aware of the normal hours kept in the very different climate of Spain, where Marinela would rise very early indeed in the warmer months and, frequently clad only in a petticoat and shift, the which would have shocked the middle-aged cousins to the marrow, would spend long hours consulting with her housekeeper and cook over preserves and pickles and with her gardener over the training of her flowering vines and the house grapevines, and the cultivation of her roses and her many orange and lemon trees. And, indeed, with the poultry-woman over the hens, ducks and geese. Marinela did not think to mention this to them, and if it occurred forcibly to Sir Harry as they questioned him in what they imagined was a delicate fashion about dear Marinela’s housekeeper, he did not put himself to the trouble of mentioning it.

    The almost-reverend Tom having deputed himself to fetch Bungo from school (what the bag-wig had thought of this plan never being revealed), the two of them were the next to arrive, grinning all over their faces, on a couple of hired hacks. What—hire a post-chaise? Never, dear boy! Waste of your gelt! The remainder of Paul’s gelt was thereupon forced into his nerveless hand.

    Bungo, perhaps needless to state, was plunged into a mixture of bright green envy over Bunch’s daring ride on the common stage, and horror at her having done something so far beyond the pale. And for which a Wykehamist would have been sacked. The which mixture of emotions did not make for entirely happy relations between the twins, the more so as she had grown a whole inch taller than he. Several fights ensued but only Cousin Sophia and Amabel were much disturbed by these. Though Marinela did remark placidly (in Spanish, not having the English vocabulary for it) that black eyes did not go well with pretty green dresses with tatted lace on the bodice.

    Paul wished to collect the other girls from Miss Blake’s himself, and although there was much to do at home, felt he should do so, the more so since not only did the family owe Miss Blake an apology in re the fugue of Miss Elinor, but it was more than probable that the headmistress might refuse to have her back. Bunch herself was astounded when this point came up: it had obviously not occurred that absconding on the common stage in order to attend a servant’s wedding was a sackable offence. Paul found himself wondering how on earth he could get the point over to the sensible and intelligent but highly proper Miss Blake.

    Strangely, Luís and Carlos immediately volunteered to accompany him. As did Mr Tom, though only just arrived himself. Paul thought, gently, that Luís should not dash off with Pa and Madre so nearly arrived. Luís had not thought of it in that way but recognized glumly that Paul was in the right of it. Besides, someone had to keep an eye upon Bungo! And by the by, Sir Clinton had raised no objections to his suggestion that Bungo should come out with them on his sturdy roan pony. Paul agreed he might, but on condition that Luís should see that the pony was not put at anything too high or wide for it. Luís’s own hunting was rather of the bruising, or neck-or-nothing, style, so he was a little put out, it meant he would have to hang back and go through gates and so forth, which was dull work. Carlos’s hunting was of the same style but nevertheless he vigorously supported Paul and added a few direct words on the subjects of responsibility and sharing burdens. Paul was so grateful to him that he consented to his accompanying him to the school.

    On Tom’s pointing out that two of ’em were his sisters, Paul also consented to his coming, though he could see that Tia Patty did not much care for the idea of being parted from him almost the moment she had him under the same roof with her. The more so since there was, alas, still no sign of Hal.

    What a flutter arose in the front parlour of Miss Blake’s genteel establishment when the coach party was espied!

    Several of the girls had already gone home for Christmas, particularly those whose homes were at a considerable remove from Brighton, the Misses Macrae, indeed, having to travel as far as the Highlands of Scotland, which the other boarders found most Romantick, so there were but eight young damsels in the parlour to be gratified by the sight of three young gentlemen arriving to fetch the cousins. The two darkly romantic-looking young men descending from the coach were discovered to be of more intrinsic interest than the other, as the latter had the same hair as Marybelle and Floss.

    “Pooh, just our brothers and cousins, what is there in that to make a fuss over?” said Floss, scowling, and refusing to look out of the window. She had been no more affected than had Bunch by the ambiance which prevailed at Miss Blake’s in spite of that sensible and intelligent lady’s best efforts. And in fact was intending to beg Mamma to let her leave, for all those girls were stupid.

    Marybelle, perhaps understandably in view of her age, had been pretty rapidly absorbed into the ambiance, so she replied, peering over Miss Daisy Littleworth’s shoulder: “But Paul is so handsome! Look, look, girls, that is he, in the drab greatcoat! Oh, I do so envy Christa: imagine”—lowering the voice to the obligatory whisper—“being married to him!”

    The obligatory gasps and stifled giggles at this daring remark immediately arose. In fact Miss Daisy and her bosom friend, Miss Pretty Hallam, immediately took silent vows to write “P.A.” on slips of paper and sleep with them under their pillows this very night! –The current vogue at Miss Blake’s. Of which practice that sensible and intelligent lady was not aware, fortunately for its practitioners.

    Lizzie Hallam. one of the oldest pupils, and one, moreover, who had never been in danger of succumbing to the ambiance, murmured reprovingly: “Girls, there is nothing to giggle at. And Marybelle, dear, that was not a particularly delicate remark.”

    Her sister had ignored all this, though under other circumstances she might have returned something rather sharp, for her eyes had become glued, nay welded, to the second dark gentleman who had descended from the coach, and she now gasped, nay choked: “Look! Marybelle, who is that? Your other cousin?”

    Marybelle had turned a deep puce. About the same shade as Pretty Hallam. indeed. “No,” she croaked. “It— From what Hildy’s last letter said, I think that it must be Don Carlos—don’t you, Maria?”

    “Yes!” gasped Maria.

    “Pooh, and what is so wonderful in that?” said Floss grumpily.

    “A Spanish Don!” gasped Daisy.

    Breaths thickened on Miss Blake’s parlour window…

    Lizzie Hallam’s mouth firmed. “Girls, I must beg you to come away from that window. This is most unseemly.”

    Maria retreated obediently to her side. Nobody else withdrew: in fact the press grew thicker.

    This was later silently felt by Miss Hallam, even though she knew it to be unworthy, to serve certain persons out, for two minutes later, when certain voices had just cried regretfully: “Oh! They have gone in!” the parlour door opened and Miss Worrington (otherwise known as Miss Worry-Tongue) looked in and said with her customary nervous little cough: “Er—oh, there you are, Maria, dear. Here are your cousins come to fetch you, and your brother is just speaking to—”

    Nobody heard much of the rest of this speech, for there in the doorway were the red-headed one and the Spanish Don!

    Tom grinned cheerfully, and said to his curtseying little cousin: “Well, Maria! No need to curtsey to me, y’know!”—Maria dimpled.—“This a particular friend of yours, is it?” he added kindly, as Maria was standing next to Lizzie.

    “No— I mean— This is Miss Hallam, Tom, she is in the senior class!” she gasped.

    “Oh, senior class, eh?” he said, grinning. “How d’y’do? I’m Tom Maddern. Oh: here, this is your Cousin Carlos, Maria! –Don Carlos Fernández de Velasco, Miss Hallam, dare say he will not mind if you call him Mister,” he said kindly to Lizzie.

    Lizzie curtseyed numbly.

    Maria also curtseyed, and greeted Don Carlos in Spanish—certain jaws dropped: they had not heard her use it before, as she had become very shy over the matter.

    Carlos bowed gravely, though with a twinkle in his grey eyes, and kissed Maria’s hand. –Gasps from the vicinity of the bay window, and certain persons made up their minds it would be “C.F.D.V.” on those slips of paper tonight. And then bowed again and said: “Delighted to meet you, Miss Hallam,” in the most ravishing soft accent! And also kissed Lizzie Hallam’s hand! Well!

    After that Floss hurled herself at Tom and to his horror burst into tears on his neckcloth.

    “Now, look— Hullo, Marybelle!” he gasped. “This here’s Carlos! –Now look, Floss, this won’t do: thought you was the sensible one?” he gasped.

    “I hate it here, Tom! The girls are all silly!” she wailed.

    “Aye, but that was to be expected!”

    Certain persons at this looked very disconcerted. Lizzie Hallam, however, merely looked drily amused, and Carlos, who was neither blind nor stupid, observed this fact with as much interest as he had earlier observed her quietly composed demeanour and her delicately aristocratic features. –She bore, indeed, a great resemblance to her elegant mamma, Sir Julian Naseby’s Aunt Agatha Hallam.

    “You’ll help to persuade Mamma to let me leave, won’t you, Tom?” Floss then said, looking up at him and sniffing.

    Miss Worrington started forward anxiously. “Florabelle, my dear—”

    “Now, this won’t do, y’know,” he said, patting Floss’s back. “Didn’t see me kickin’ up a fuss after one term and demandin’ to leave Harrow, did you?” –Certain persons who had been acquainted by the innocent Bunch and Floss with the Madderns’ financial status, here looked very much as if they felt their noses to have just undergone the painful process generally known as being put out of joint.

    “No, but that’s different!” she wailed. “Harrow is a sensible school!”

    Tom looked very harassed indeed. And as Marybelle was looking helpless and Miss Worrington was standing by looking even more helpless—though very learned in matters of geography, she was pretty much a broken reed when it came to discipline or crises—Miss Hallam said quietly: “I think it might be best if we took her into the back parlour, Mr Maddern. Through here.”

    “Yes, that would be best!” gasped Miss Worrington, shepherding out all four girls and the two gentlemen. And closing the door behind them! The front parlour seethed with indignation and consternation.

    Floss continued to sob convulsively. Lizzie got her seated on a sofa and dispatched Marybelle in quest of a glass of water and smelling-salts.

    “She will be better directly. I think it is just the excitement of seeing her relatives that has brought this on,” she said in her quiet way. “It is not unusual, at the end of a girl’s first term.”

    Tom patted Floss’s back glumly. “It is in her, though. Not a bawler.”

    Miss Hallam hesitated “No. Well, she has very little in common with most of the girls. And she found lessons something of a struggle, at first. But we have gone on splendidly these last weeks, have we not, Floss, my dear?”

    “Yes! Only now Lizzie is luh-luh-leaving!” wailed Floss. “And there will be no-one to huh-help me!”

    Tom rolled a desperate eye at Miss Hallam.

    “Well, yes, this was my last term. But I am sure another of the older pupils will be glad to help her study.”

    “I don’t like them!” she gulped.

    “Querida, I will help you,” said Maria anxiously.

    “You can’t—write—good!” sobbed Floss.

    Perhaps fortunately, Marybelle at this point hurried back in, and the sufferer was plied with revival agents. Finally she was able to sit up and say mournfully: “I wager Old Blakey won’t let Bunch come back, either, and then I’ll have nobody sensible to talk to.”

    Tom looked round desperately.

    “I think she may let her,” said Carlos quietly. “Paul talks to her at this moment. And leetle Bunch, you know, did not at all understand that she did sometheeng that could—er—I am sorry: the only expression that I know is ‘to get her the sack’, and I theenk that is not genteel, no?”

    “Uh—no. Never mind,” said Tom kindly.

    “Your English is excellent, sir,” said Miss Hallam, blushing a little.

    “Thank you, Miss Hallam,” he said, smiling. “I find it very difficult, however, for first I have to theenk it, you know? And then I must to translate it in my head, before I speak!”

    “Sí, sí,” said Maria eagerly, nodding. “But soon you will learn to think it in English, Cousin Carlos!”

    “Indeed I hope so!” he said ruefully.

    “Are you going to live at the Manor?” asked Floss, sniffing juicily. Silently Tom handed her his handkerchief.

    “Why, no. But very closely near!” he said, smiling.

    “Rockingham’s old dower house,” said Tom briefly. “Little half-timbered place: you know, Floss!”

    “Oh, yes! The empty house with the—” Floss broke off. “Raspberry canes.” she finished in a small voice,

    “Aye, that’d be it!” he said, swallowing a grin. “Well, feeling better, eh?”

    “Mm,” she admitted glumly.

    “Splendid, Florabelle, my love!” twittered Miss Worrington. “And I think, perhaps, that you girls might all come and get your bonnets on, now!”

    “Indeed,” said Miss Hallam, smiling and rising.

    Miss Worrington went into a flutter, unable to decide whether Lizzie should remain behind to entertain the gentlemen, which would be most ineligible, or whether she should, which would mean that only Lizzie would be seeing them into their bonnets and pelisses, or—

    Finally Miss Hallam settled the matter for her, saying she was sure that the gentlemen would not mind waiting, and she would ring for a little refreshment, if they would care to—? They would. Miss Hallam rang the bell, competently desired the bobbing parlourmaid to provide the gentlemen with a glass of Miss Blake’s special Madeira, and shepherded the flock out.

    “Whew!” said Tom, sinking back onto the sofa with a laugh. “That one reminds me of Christa!”

    “Sí: is she not wonderful?” replied Carlos eagerly. “And so elegant: such fine features!”

    Tom’s jaw dropped. “Uh—aye,” he croaked.

    “So she leaves the school thees term,” he then said.

    “Uh—mm. Dare say her family will bring her out this coming Season.”

    “Sí. When ith that, exactly, Tom?” he asked eagerly.

    Limply the bulging-eyed almost-reverend told him. Adding feebly that the girl could be scarce eighteen, as yet.

    “Oh!” he cried. “But in Spain the girls—”

   Limply Tom let him tell him. All this damned matrimony in the air, that was what it was!

    There was still no sign of Hal. Mrs Maddern sobbed despairingly into her very damp handkerchief. Mrs Goodbody patted her back, looking desperately at Marinela. Not looking particularly disturbed, Marinela held out the smelling-salts.

    “And the nuh-next thing,” she sobbed, “huh-he will be luh-late for his own sister’s wedding!”

    “Dearest Patty, it is not at all the same case. And he is not late as yet,” said Mrs Goodbody, taking the smelling-salts from Marinela and holding them to her cousin’s nose.

    “It’s tomorrow!” she wailed, with a fresh burst of tears.

    “Sí. But there ith much time. Presque une journée entière, ma chère Patty,” said Marinela, since Harry was not in the room to hear her say it. In fact, not one of the gentlemen was in the house.

    “Oui! Mais si c’est mon fils, je dois vous avouer, ma chère Marinela,” she sobbed in her schoolgirl French, “qui’l se moque de tout!”

    “Oui, oui, ç’est un je— Il se moque de tout,” said Marinela hurriedly. “Mais ne vous inquiétez pas, il a toujours le temps d’arriver.”

    Mrs Maddern continued to sob, but finally consented to blow her nose and then sniff the smelling-salts. Then pushing them away with a shudder and declaring bitterly: “And the next thing we know, he will turn up married to that—that creature!”

    Mrs Goodbody hastened to assure Patty that that would not happen at all, for Hal had far more sense of propriety; and besides, Miss Daws, even though they had never met her, could not be a creature: she came of a most respectable family.

    Mrs Maddern sobbed and would not be comforted, and lamented that she had ever let Paul persuade her into consenting that Mr Daws and his sister be invited to the Manor for the Christmas period. And wished she had never written kindly to the creature! And how Hal could just have written a mere line to say he was engaged, when they had never met the girl or her family—!

    Mrs Goodbody went on patting her cousin’s back and offering her the salts.

    Finally Mrs Maddern sat up, drew a shuddering breath and said: “And she will have us out of our dear home, and then what shall we do?”

    “Mais... Elle aura la... la maison de—de douaire, n’est-ce pas?” said Marinela to Cousin Sophia.

    Cousin Sophia looked blank.

    “Maison de— Dearest Marinela, we have no such thing!” said Mrs Maddern, her tears drying up in sheer astonishment. “You have not yet seen our little home or the very—very restricted style in which we live! Dower house! Why, the property can scarce support the family, as it is!”

    “Je veux dire, celle de Paul,” she said in some confusion. “C’est bien le mot, n’est-ce pas, Sophia? Je voudrais indiquer la maison qu’a de coutume la mère veuve du propriétaire.”

    “Oui,” said Cousin Sophia limply. “C’est bien le mot.”

    “Dearest Marinela, what are you saying?” cried Mrs Maddern.

    After that, of course, it all came out, and if Marinela was overcome to find she had pre-empted her son, she was reassured upon his hugging her very much when the gentlemen returned for dinner, and saying that he had intended to broach the subject himself, now that it was definite that Hal would marry Miss Daws, and thanking her for saving him the trouble.

    This did not entirely solve the problem of Hal’s still not having arrived, but Mrs Maddern was able to overlook the point, so bound up was she in her forthcoming move and Paul’s amazing generosity. For if it was true, as Floss pointed out, that the little dower house would otherwise have stood empty, nevertheless it was generous in the extreme of him, and if she heard one more word Florabelle would go to bed without her supper. And of course the house was very much larger than the lodge, what a thing to say! And if Carlos’s dower house did have five bedrooms, Paul’s had four, all good-sized, and might she remind Florabelle that comparisons were invidious and if that was all she had learned at Miss Blake’s school, she had better not return to it, indeed, but instead go off to Norfolk, for she was more than old enough to learn to be a companion to old Cousin—

    But before the dread words “Cousin Sibylla Maddern” could be spoken Deering announced: “Mr Maddern, madam,” and in he came, covered in mud and dust, grinning from ear to ear, and saying he hoped he had not missed dinner.

    Mrs Maddern promptly burst into tears but this was very definitely the least of the possible evils, so no-one wished very hard it could be otherwise.

    Possibly after all this, Jake’s wedding might justifiably have been seen in some sort as an anticlimax. Only of course it was not to the main participants. And, indeed, the guests all appeared to enjoy themselves very much. Though there were some minor points of confusion. Such as: Pa, why had not the Marquis been invited to the church as well as the reception? –Sir Harry was impelled to shut his eyes and let his chin sink on his chest. And: Where were all the people who had been at Francisco’s? –Sir Harry sighed deeply, still with his eyes shut. Even though, this time, he was walled off from his youngest daughter by Paul, Miss Maddern, Bungo and Marinela.

    “Bunch, querida,” said Paul, taking her hand, “Jake and Mrs Giles wished for a very quiet ceremony. And it would not have been entirely fitting to have all the villagers here.”

    Bunch stuck her lower lip out. There was a short silence. Then two elderly gentlemen were seen to enter the church, the one thin and pale, leaning on a silver-knobbed stick, the other plump and red-cheeked with a mop of untidy silver curls. The thinner gentleman wore a greatcoat of old-fashioned cut and had lank grey locks to his collar; the plumper had a heavy cloak, thrown back to reveal an old-fashioned, indeed virtually frocked blue coat, above very yellow buckled breeches which would have done credit to Mr Simpkins of the Dittersford tavern himself. And gaiters. They were respectively Mr Fanshawe and Mr Makepeace. The sheep connection did not seem sufficient to justify their presence, in especial as—

    “Querida, Major Kernohan and his brothers will be at the reception: it will be a very big party, you will see!” said Paul, squeezing her hand. “What a cold little hand!” he added. “Put it in your muff, quick!

    Bunch scowled. “Boys do not have to have muffs.”

    Paul smiled a little and put their linked hands into her new brown muff.

    Meanwhile, certain persons who, in view of the inelasticity of the Manor pew, had placed themselves in the pew behind, were quietly counting their blessings.

    Miss Elinor Ainsley had been confused that Jake had not asked Francisco to be his best man, but his own brother, who had now been taken on as agent by Major Kernohan. No-one had been able to explain this mysterious behaviour to her satisfaction until her twin said tersely: “It ain’t obligatory to swap, imbecile.”

    Mrs Giles had few relatives in the neighbourhood, but her married sister, a slim, quiet young woman who resided at Daynesford, was her matron of honour. The which fact caused Miss Elinor much satisfaction, and some other persons quietly to wonder whether she had doubted Cousin Sophia’s word.

    As it was such a chilly day the bride wore the fine new crimson wool dress with which Marinela had presented her, under an even finer Spanish shawl in deep shades of crimson and blue, with a navy-blue silk bonnet trimmed with crimson roses. As she had much the same colouring as Johanna Jubb, her dark-eyed face positively glowed from under this bonnet. Marybelle sighed in deepest envy, but nodded when Maria whispered: “Dearest, you could never wear such shades.” The two then held hands for support throughout the ceremony, though whether the support was more on account of weddings as such or the crimson and dark blue, it would have been hard to say.

    Mrs Giles’s bouquet of hothouse blooms had been provided by John Pringle. Who was present partly on account of being a connexion of the groom’s and partly on account of this botanical contribution, beaming proudly as it processed down the aisle.

    Mr Stalling favoured the company with a sermon on the domestic virtues. If certain persons privately reflected the former couple to have been more in need of this than the two well-suited mature persons now before them, the reflexion was not allowed to appear on their faces. True, Mrs Urqhart’s visage had to be veiled with a fan once or twice but even Johanna, at her side, was unable to tell whether this was in order to conceal a smile at the content of the Vicar’s offering or a yawn at its length.

    ... “I say: thought the old fellow would go on forever!” said Hal Maddern with feeling to the almost-reverend one, as they got upon their horses at long last.

    “Don’t have him for yours, then!” Tom advised with a grin.

    “No. Pity you won’t be in orders by then, old fellow,” he said as they moved off.

    “Eh? When do you plan to have it?”

    “Mm? Oh, we thought March,” he said cheerfully. “Pointless to wait, we thought.”

    “March?” gasped Tom, nearly falling off his horse. “Have you told Mamma?”

    “Eh? Oh—no. Thought I’d let all this fuss go by, first!”

    Tom gulped. “Yes, but dear old lad— Have you thought?”

    “Eh?”

    Wincing, Tom endeavoured to explain that, very well, so Mrs Maddern herself would not be concerned with the actual arrangements, as Miss Daws would be married from her home, but apart from the small matter of invitations to Hal’s side to be decided upon, there was the house!

    “Paul’s said she can have the little house, hasn’t he?” Hal returned cheerfully.

    “Hal, you are beyond the pale!” said his sibling in a shaking voice.

    “Eh?”

    “All the furniture at home is Mamma’s: I suppose you have not thought of that? And l am very sure she will need persuading to take it: you know what she is! And you and Miss Daws will need time to move new furniture in—not to mention choose it! Then there is the linen, and I dare say the stillroom is full, and—and Bateson!”

    “Oh, aye. And Mrs Spofford,” he noted, still cheerful.

    “Hal!” Tom said angrily.

    “Um—well, we thought Mamma could have Bateson: she’s gettin’ on a bit, y’know. Daphne cannot be doing with creaky old servants or creaky old furniture! Mamma may take the lot, and welcome! Dare say old Merryweather may wish to retire—or if he don’t, Mamma may have him, too!”

    “They have lived in the district all their lives! How a son of Papa’s can be so thoughtless I know not!” said Tom, angry tears starting to his eyes.

    Hal looked at him in surprize.

    “And you propose to move Mamma and our sisters and all the furniture just when Christa’s wedding is upon us!” he said through his teeth.

    “Eh? Oh. –Well, no, look: it’ll work out much easier: Christa may be married from the dower house! Dare say old Stalling will give them a dashed boring sermon, too!” said Hal, chuckling.

    “You must be aware that Mamma wishes very much for her dear friend’s son to officiate,” Tom said tightly.

    “What, Holy Hilary?” he choked. “No, don’t eat me, dear old lad: he is the best fellow in the world! Well—uh—could not they arrange somethin’ between the two of ’em? Or—uh—could Parkinson assist? Stalling don’t have a curate, do he?”

    “Hal, you are upsetting everyone’s arrangements,” he warned grimly.

    “Pooh!” replied Hal with a laugh. “Nothing to it!”

    “You will speak to Mamma tomorrow, and no later, or I shall!” said Tom furiously.

    “Here, don’t fly up in the boughs, old boy! Er—well, yes, dare say we both could.”

    “You may be sure of it,” said Tom between his teeth.

    Hal didn’t argue. For one thing he could see his brother was on his high ropes, in which state there was no arguing with him, and for another thing, he was very glad that he was not going to have face Mamma alone. For it was one thing to decide upon an arrangement which he and Daphne were agreed seemed sensible and simple, and quite another thing to have to explain it to Mamma. In fact overnight the thing had begun imperceptibly not to seem simple at all.

    Since Sir Harry had insisted the reception for Jake and his bride must not be a paltry affair, the greater part of the genteel sector of the neighbourhood had been invited, the guest list ranging from local gentleman-farmers and minor gentry such as Mr Fanshawe, Mr Makepeace, and Sir Clinton Gerrity, along with friends of the family such as Mrs Urqhart and the Kernohan brothers, to more direct acquaintances of Jake’s and Mrs Giles’s own such as the Marquis’s agent, Mr Richards, and the Cumminses from Top Farm, with lesser persons such as Miss Fewster, the music teacher, and that Mrs True who had (very satisfactorily), made the new curtains for the Manor. Then there were those whom it was felt could not be left out, such as the Knowles family from Holmden House.

    These persons had, of course, not been invited alone. Mr Fanshawe and Mr Makepeace were both widowers, but the hearty Sir Clinton was accompanied not only by his wife, a plump, generous-hearted lady who was clearly there in the expectation of thoroughly enjoying herself, but also his oldest son and his wife, and even his youngest son, a sad-faced boy of around twenty with a crippled foot. And all three Knowles brothers were present. Prue had not failed to muffle himself in a fur-lined cloak for the journey and even now was seen to be wearing his coat buttoned across his chest with a quite unnecessary muffler. He, Prim and Prissy did not look as if they were enjoying themselves. Though the stout, pale Prissy was certainly eating a lot.

    Oddly enough the Purdues had not been invited. And nor had Dean and Mrs Llewellyn-Jones, or indeed, the Bishop and his wife. Which possibly went a fair way towards explaining the whole-hearted enjoyment on the innocent faces of Mrs Stalling, little Linnaea, and Mrs Porton, the former Jane Stalling, who was spending the Christmas season together with her husband and young family at her parents’ home.

    “A goodly crowd, is it not?” said Mrs Urqhart placidly, as Major Kernohan assisted her to drape her fur wrap over the back of her chair. The Major assented to this remark, and was then able to answer her enquiry as to who the poor crippled boy was, for he had now met Sir Clinton’s family and, indeed, dined twice with them.

    Dorian, who had stationed himself at Mrs Urqhart’s other hand and, not coincidentally, next to Johanna, murmured: “Makes one count one’s blessings, does it not?”

    “Indeed,” agreed Jo. Her tone was so neutral that Dorian could not for the life of him figure out whether she was as moved as he by the sight of the poor, pale cripple, or silently condemning the banality of his remark, or just not interested in any remark he might make, or—or what! He had much ado not to bite his lip.

    Meanwhile, Mlle Girardon, having very much admired the decoration of the ballroom, was expressing a fervent wish that she could have been present at the earlier celebration. “It would not have done,” said her brother shortly.

    “No,” agreed Dezzie calmly. –They had already had this conversation.

    Carolyn pouted but became speedily reconciled upon Mr Charleson’s offering her a slice of a marvellous golden high-crowned pie. It was artfully decorated with twists, spirals, leaves and flowers, and even a bird, all in shining pastry, and Mr Charleson did not know what was in it, but he dared swear it was something splendid!

    “Pigeon. Same as this one.” said the Marquis, helping his other sister to a large slice. “—Anna?”

    Anna, however, refused for the nonce, as the elderly Mr Peregrine Jerningham, saving in his courtly way: “Pray allow me to tempt you to a touch of this delightful ragoût de lièvre, my dear Miss Anna,” was helping her to another dish. –Rockingham resignedly made a mental note that old Peregrine’s pockets would have to be gone through the minute they got home: the table was laden with silverware, and he was wearing the maroon coat, not a good sign, for its skirts were even more frocked and its pockets deeper than his green, brown, and blue coats. He was also wearing a lace-trimmed jabot in the style of the last century, but the Marquis supposed sardonically that a company which could support the twin spectacles of old Makepeace in frockcoat and gaiters and Mr Luís Ainsley in a black coat with peaked shoulders like Snowdonia and a neckcloth that came virtually to the eyebrows, could put up with old Peregrine’s frilly jabot. –Mr Luís, there appearing to be no formal seating arrangements except at the centre of the high table where the bridal party was seated, had come and joined the Marquis’s party, taking the seat between Anna and Carolyn. So it was anyone’s guess, really. In especial as the both of ’em appeared immensely gratified by his presence.

    “How well the seating has worked out,” murmured Paul in his fiancée’s ear.

    Miss Maddern had not failed also to remark the disposition of certain of the invités and she had to bite her lip.

    “Though not, alas, in all cases,” he added, looking at Gaetana and Hildy, seated side-by-side, in between Don Carlos (Hildy) and Cousin Sophia (Gaetana).

    “No,” she admitted. She looked again. “My dear, you do not think—?” she said to him in a very low voice.

    “No,” he said definitely, helping her to the roast duck he had been carving. “He apparently admires young women of an elegant appearance and a serious nature.” He repeated Tom’s report of the encounter at Miss Blake’s.

    Miss Maddern’s jaw sagged.

    “That is not so very dreadful, I think?” he murmured, passing her a dish of spiced peaches. “Try these with the duck, querida.”

    Numbly Christabel helped herself. “But Paul, a Miss Hallam? She must surely be the elder of Sir Julian Naseby’s cousins!”

    Paul’s hand remained suspended above the dish of peaches.

    Miss Maddern nodded anxiously. “Yes! I am quite sure that was the name of the aunt with whom he was staying in Bath.”

    “How splendidly it is all working out, to be sure,” he said mildly.

    Miss Maddern choked. Fortunately she had not yet embarked on the duck.

    “Especially if Giles’s invitation to Naseby’s relatives for the festive season works out as he envisages,” he noted drily.

    Miss Maddern closed her eyes for a moment.

    “But of course!” he discovered. She winced. “I shall urge Giles to write adding one more young person to the party! If the girl is to be brought out next year—”

    “You will do no such thing,” she said grimly.

    Paul ate a little duck. “Mm—delicious. Eat it before it gets cold. –Of course I shall: it seems the obvious move.”

    Miss Maddern took a deep breath. She ate duck, determinedly not looking at him.

    The company was well-nigh glutted, in fact Bungo’s face was not only shiny, it had somehow a tight and stretched look to it (for he had had to do the spread full justice, Winchester providing, of course, only slops); Sir Harry had made several speeches; Jake had been forced to make one very short speech; Mr Makepeace had made a shortish but most eloquent speech in which welcome to the neighbourhood, happiness at Jake’s good fortune and pleasure at seeing another sheep man settled in the district (with a glance at the Marquis of Rockingham) had been about equally mixed; the former Mrs Giles had refused in horror to do more than stand up (with her new husband’s arm supporting her) and whisper: “Thank you so much,” with which the company had not been at all dissatisfied, to judge by the “Aah’s” and the applause; Jake’s brother Michael had read out messages of good will from several relatives who had not been able to attend, owing to the distance of their homes from Dittersford; the very elderly Mr Martin Pringle, who was some sort of an uncle, only possibly not, if you looked closely at Jake’s ancestry, had creaked to his feet, assisted from one side by a plump, red cheeked, cheerful Mrs Fred Adams who was some sort of a descendant, and on the other by a tall, cadaverous, gloomy Mr Theobald Pringle who was some other sort of a descendant, and had made a confused and wavery speech, in which pleasure at having Jake home from his wanderings and the doubtfulness of the wisdom of introducing sheep to the Manor lands were about equally mixed; and Sir Harry now had the sort of look in his eye which to those who knew him boded another speech.

    Paul rose himself and firmly and very loudly thanked all the company for their attendance, wished Jake and the new Mrs Pringle the very best in the world, and announced that there would be dancing as soon as the tables were cleared. And in the meantime, there would be a little music.

    The long tables were set around all four sides of the big oblong room, thus leaving a considerable space in the middle, and into this space, to everyone’s surprize, filed not the Spaniards whom Mr Roly confidently predicted, but Mr Stalling, looking flushed and anxious, if proud, and a dozen little boys in surplices. The village choir.

    “Hell,” said Rockingham under his breath. Dezzie glared, and kicked his ankle, and he jumped, even though he had boots on. (And breeches. In contrast to such as Messrs Luís Ainsley, Dorian Kernohan, and Roland Kernohan.)

    However, it was not too bad: they merely sang a selection of Christmas carols. And certainly the ladies present found it entirely delightful. Such a sweet touch! Amabel, Mrs Goodbody and little Anna Hobbs all had recourse to their handkerchiefs.

    Meantime, the servants were quietly clearing the tables. Bunch had already pointed out it was not fair that they had not joined the party, but Sir Harry had told her loudly and, it was to be feared, somewhat irritably, that they would have their celebration after, and if he heard one more damn’ stupid question this afternoon she could go over his knee. Bunch had subsided, but most aggrievedly, and had had to be pacified by Marinela’s allowing her to try a slice of almond tart before she had finished her meat.

    The choir had quite exhausted its repertoire, the little band of musicians had played several pieces, and Miss Elinor Ainsley had wondered loudly why the dancing did not start, several times, but at last the tables were all cleared, and Paul stood up again and, smiling very much, asked the gentlemen to take their partners for the first dance.

    The twins watched warily as Jake and Mrs Pringle went onto the floor: Bunch had apprised Bungo of the horrid fate that had overtaken her at the first dance at Francisco’s wedding: Tio Pedro. And Mr Simpkins for the second.

    “Come along, mi querida!” said Sir Harry. beaming. He led Marinela to join the first set.

    Paul then led his fiancée into the set. Possibly he should have asked his aunt or Lady Gerrity, but then, he was only flesh and blood, after all.

    Major Kernohan bowed before Mrs Urqhart.

    “No, no, Major: I’ve ate so much I don’t think as I can move!” she gasped, hugely gratified.

    “If it proves, indeed, to be so, we shall sit it out together,” he said, bowing again.

    “You go with him, ma’am. He don’t often dance,” said Dorian.

    “Can you manage, though?” the old lady asked simply.

    “If my partner is so good as to grasp my hand when it needs grasping: yes,” he replied, with equal simplicity.

    Mrs Urqhart heaved herself up. “Right you are, in that case: we shall chance it! Acos I don’t mind tellin’ you, Major. I ever did have an eye for black-visaged creatures like yourself!”

    “I’m flattered, ma’am,” he said gravely, bowing again and offering her his arm.

    Shaking, Mrs Urqhart allowed herself to be led into the second set.

    Dorian immediately offered Johanna his arm. Poor Jo did not see how to get out of it. She was aware it could not be kind to encourage him—yet it seemed so unkind to refuse! Still, it was but a dance. Weakly she allowed herself to be led into it. Not failing to note. with a sinking feeling, that Mr Dorian’s pleasant features were lit by a positive glow.

    “Oh, dear, Hildy: look at that.” said Gaetana. low-voiced, in her cousin’s ear.

    Hildy gulped. “Yes. I trust it will not be the story of myself and poor Sir Julian. all over again.”

    Gaetana nodded. “Indeed. Quite clearly she did not see how to refuse.”

    Hildy winced. “Exactly.”

    “l suppose it is the case of the lesser of the two evils,” she noted.

    “Gaetana, it is not so easy.”

    Gaetana put a hand on hers. “No, I know.”

    Mrs Stalling had a moment earlier noted in her husband’s ear that he really ought to ask Mrs Knowles. The Vicar had given her an anguished look, but they had then perceived that Don Carlos was doing his duty. Meantime, Don Pedro had bowed very low before the gratified Mrs Maddern. And Sir Clinton had invited the fluttered Mrs Goodbody, so that was all right. As the merry-faced Mr Makepeace had already asked Lady Gerrity, none of the older ladies had anything to cavil at.

    “Dance with Mamma, Papa,” urged Jane Porton, rising, and giving her hand to her own husband.

    “Yes, go on, Papa!” urged Linny. There did not seem to be any other ladies d’un certain âge in need of rescuing, so very thankfully the Vicar asked his own wife to dance.

    The sets were rapidly being made up. Lord Welling looked glumly across the room at Hildy.

    “Go on, boy, ask her!” said his cousin robustly. Welling leapt where he sat. “If you don’t, Roly Kernohan will—and remark, his neckcloth is even more of the choking variety than is yours. Though I will admit his waistcoat ain’t so wonderful.”

    With a quick glare at the Marquis of Rockingham, Lord Welling hurried across the room.

    “No go in him,” said the Marquis gloomily.

    “No, well, he’s shy, poor boy,” said Dezzie in a vague voice. “Eh?” she then said in horror, as Luís bowed before her. “Lord, no, I’m not dancing!”

    “But it is a very firm tradition in our family, Lady Dezzie,” he said with a twinkle, “that absolutely everybody, from Pa down to the boot-boy, must dance at a wedding! And you will see: before the day is done Harry himself will have dragged Bunch onto the floor, and I dare say Madre will force Bungo!”

    “Puts you in your place,” noted Lady Desdemona’s brother.

    With a quick glare at the Marquis of Rockingham, Dezzie rose and graciously allowed Luís to lead her onto the floor.

    Carolyn and Anna avoided each other’s eyes. Mr Charleson avoided the eyes of both of them. It was just as well that Mr Jerningham had the exquisite manners of an earlier day, if he had also its coat and neckcloth, for he then bowed before Miss Hobbs and begged for the very great pleasure. Immediately Eric, with visible relief, rose and invited Mlle Girardon.

    “Oh, Hildy, look out!” hissed Gaetana.

    Rigid in her seat with horror, Hildy perceived that two young gentlemen in ear-high neckcloths and wonderful waistcoats were heading determinedly their way.

    Lord Welling got there first, by a whisker. Roland promptly invited Gaetana. He was somewhat stunned when she murmured, as he led her onto the floor: “Alas, Mr Roly, I fear this is but second-best. However, I shall try my best to please vou.”

    “No, I say— Oh, you is but jesting,” he said weakly.

    Meanwhile Hal, shaking slightly, had said into the almost-reverend’s ear: “You will have to do it, soon or late: it had best be soon!”

    With a quick glare at his brother, Tom rose and invited the highly gratified Muzzie Charleson to dance. Lady Charleson had permitted her children to attend, since there had been a formal invitation from the Manor. She had, however, herself refused the invitation: her poor health. Still sulking, was the unanimous conclusion.

    Almost everybody now had a partner, and Marybelle and Maria were shaking in their shoes. For Marybelle was fetchingly clad in her new leaf-green velvet gown with the lace collar and Maria was fetchingly clad in her new dark crimson velvet gown with the flounce, and it was evident that the two younger Messrs Knowles could not but find these outfits overwhelming. The more so since Mr Prim had set them an example by asking Amabel.

    Rockingham had gone over to Mr Fanshawe and placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling. “How is the leg, my dear Fanshawe?”

    “Oh, very comfortable indeed, thank you, my Lord!” said the unsuspecting elderly gentleman, highly gratified.

    “I am very glad to hear it,” said the Marquis solemnly. “And in that case, perhaps you would care to join me in rescuing those two unfortunate damsels? For otherwise, I feel they may fall prey to the questing spirits of the young corsairs from Holmden House.”

    Mr Fanshawe was not without a sense of humour, and he had to gulp. “Well, you have caught me nicely!” he admitted, smiling. “But I fear I am somewhat too old to dance.”

    “Aye, well, so is Makepeace, not to say m’cousin Jerningham. –Reminds me, you are not missing a silver mustard pot since that day he called on you, are you?”

    “Why—why, yes, my housekeeper did mention something of the sort...” he faltered in astonishment.

    Rockingham grimaced. “Then I can only offer you the humblest of apologies on behalf of the family, sir, and assure you it will be returned speedily to you.”

    “Thank you,” said Mr Fanshawe, swallowing.

    “No, pray do not thank me, sir,” he returned grimly. “Now, do you truly not care to dance? For I will not jockey you into it, if so,” he noted with a gleam in his eyes that Mr Fanshawe missed.

    “Why no, I should be happy. Only I am scarcely acquaint with the young ladies, Marquis.”

    “Well, in that case, you take the red-headed gal in the green, she ain’t shy. And I’ll take the little Spanish doll,” he said simply.

    The elderly Mr Fanshawe smiled a little, but allowed the Marquis to lead him across the room and present him to the gratified Marybelle.

    Rockingham led Maria out. “Do I have to count, Miss Maria?” he murmured.

    “Count, sir?” she faltered into his waistcoat.

    “Mm. I once waltzed with your sister, and she made me count,” he said reminiscently.

    “Oh! No, one does not count, for a country dance, sir,” she said seriously, looking up at him with grave dark eyes.

    Rockingham’s shoulders quivered, but he said solemnly: “You relieve my mind immensely, Miss Maria. And pray do not hesitate to correct me, should I go wrong in the figures. For I do not dance much, y’know.”

    Maria did know, in fact the whole neighbourhood knew, and this was partly why she was so overcome. And partly, of course, it was because he was a large gentleman.

    Even whilst enjoying the dance very much, certain persons did not fail to note precisely who was left sitting on the sidelines. Or had placed themselves there. And when the first dance ended, acted accordingly.

    Sir Harry beat Rockingham to it by a whisker. “You can get out there on the floor with one of your sisters or cousins, or little Miss Muzzie,” he said grimly to his eldest nephew.

    Hal had scrambled to his feet, very red. Not on account of being reproved by his uncle, on account of having him do it in front of the Marquis of Rockingham. “Oh, I say! I ain’t a dancin’ man, y’know, Uncle Harry!”

    “Or alternatively come outside and have a taste of home-brewed,” offered Rockingham in a neutral voice.

    “I should be honoured, Marquis,” admitted Hal with a grin. “No, I’m goin’, sir!” he added hurriedly, as Sir Harry took a deep and annoyed breath.

    “Shall I invite Miss Floss?” murmured Rockingham, as Hal bowed before Maria.

    “Don’t know that I’d require you to sacrifice yourself to that extent, Giles!” he said with his robust laugh. “No, Tom may do it. –Oy!” In spite of the Marquis’s murmured protest that Tom had already done nobly, he was forced to lead his beaming young sister out.

    Sir Harry looked round the room. Pedro was now inviting Cousin Sophia, so that was all right, and Sir Clinton was bowing before Patty. And Stalling was doing his duty with Mrs Knowles. Admittedly the fellow was a vicar, but still—! Sir Harry had met Mrs Knowles but the once, when she had paid a courtesy call on Marinela. It had been enough, however.

    “Vicar’s wife?” he suggested.

    “I had rather Mrs Urqhart,” murmured his Lordship.

    “Well, you can’t have her, that other Kernohan boy has asked her. Which reminds me, where’s— Oh,” he said, as Luís was to be seen bowing before Miss Anna. Thus enabling Mr Charleson to ask Mlle Girardon again. “Well, that’s all right. Only if that Charleson boy asks little Carolyn again—not that the worst neighbourhood cats is here, Paul tells me—but still—”

    “Don’t worry, Harry, I shan’t let them dance three in a row,” he murmured. “Though at least it has clarified which of them the two boys favour!”

    “Aye. Well, Giles, you can have the Vicar’s wife or his dear little daughter!” he said with a laugh.

    “I suppose it had better be the wife,” he admitted, grimacing. Sir Harry led him up to the simpering Mrs Stalling forthwith.

    “Come along, my boy,” he then said firmly to Carlos. “Here is a nice little girl, just waiting to be introduced!”

    Miss Linnaea Stalling was thus the very first of the young ladies present in the Manor’s ballroom to be gratified by a dance with the dashing Spanish Don. And became visibly puffed up on account of it. It was fortunate indeed that no word of Don Carlos’s political activities had reached the Vicar’s ears.

    Marinela had already forced a shrinking Bungo onto the floor. “¡Querido, of course you can to dance!”

    “But Madre, I can’t!” he hissed agonisedly.

    “Then it ith time you were learning, my lamb.”

    Pausing only to present Mr Fanshawe to Amabel, and Mr Prim Knowles to the shrinking Marybelle, Sir Harry descended upon his youngest daughter. “Come on, my pet, you can do this! Only a hop!”

    As the afternoon advanced, inevitably the party from the servants’ hall was forcibly joined onto the reception proper in the ballroom by the inexorable Sir Harry. Paul, who had foreseen this would happen, merely shook silently as his affianced pointed out to him in horrified tones that the Marquis of Rockingham was dancing with Berthe (in the bonnet) and that Gaetana was at this minute inviting Deering!

    “This is more like!” beamed Mr Roly, panting, returning from a strenuous quadrille in which he had partnered Mrs Cummins from Top Farm. –Three times his girth but four times his energy, as his brothers had not failed to note.

    “I don’t know what Mamma would say,” returned the Major drily.

    Roly looked at him in surprize. “Feeling quite the thing, Aurry?”

    “Yes. Of course,” he said, frowning.

    “Look, sit down, dear old boy!”

    “Roly, once and for all, I am not made of china!” he said in annoyed tones.

    “Well... I tell you what,” Roly said eagerly, as of one promising a treat for the invalid: “why do you not ask Miss Hildy to dance? You have not had a single dance with her, all afternoon!”

    Dorian had just returned from a strenuous circuit in the arms of Lady Gerrity. He eyed Aurry nervously. “That’ll do, Roly: let him dance with whom he likes, for the Lord’s sake.”

    “Aye, but he has not asked anybody, hardly, except Mrs Urqhart and Lady Dezzie and that tallow-faced dame with the teeth, in the black silk! And they are all older than Mamma!”

    “On the contrary, I have danced with Miss Florabelle and Miss Elinor, and they are considerably younger than Mamma.”

    “Little girls! Aurry, what is wrong with you?” cried the poet unwisely.

    “Nothing,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away from them.

    Roly’s face was a picture of dismayed bewilderment. Dorian took him firmly by the coat-sleeve and prepared to make it worse. “You damned fool. Cannot you understand that he cannot manage the damned arm in the dance?”

    “Aye, buh-but he has been dancing!”

    “Cannot you conceive that he may not wish to show himself up in front of Miss Hildegarde?” he hissed.

    Roly looked at him with a mixture of dismay and blankness. “Aye, buh-but—”

    “And do not say that she will not mind!” he said fiercely. “If you cannot see that he does not wish for pity from that direction, you are a blind, insensitive fool and—and have gained nothing from all that dashed poetry-reading!” he ended on a bitter note.

    “I fear that must be correct,” said a quiet voice.

    The brothers gasped, and swung round as one man.

    “I did not mean to eavesdrop,” said Miss Jubb, reddening. “But it is very clear to me, Mr Roly, that Mr Dorian’s theory must be the right one. And I myself have already overheard at least five well-intentioned ladies comment sympathetically upon his arm to the Major; I can understand perfectly that he would not wish to be an object of pity to Hildy.”

    “Exactly,” said Dorian, swallowing.

    “The more so,” added Johanna with a sigh, “since she has been sitting out for some time past with poor young Mr Gerrity.”

    Roly bit his lip and fidgeted, looking about Bunch’s age as he did so. “Aye, but— Well, it ain’t the same case! And besides, the fellow is fiendishly clever, they was talkin’ about Greek and such!”

    “Yes; he is a scholar, indeed. But it is understandable that your brother should not wish to be coupled with him.”

    “So I think,” said Dorian. “—I’m sorry for having bawled you out, dear boy. But please don’t mention the subject to Aurry again, will you?”

    “No,” he said, reddening. “I understand now.”

   There was a short pause.

    “Mr Dorian,” said Johanna bravely, not having earlier intended any such thing, “should you care to dance this next? I think it is a waltz, and our friends from the Manor have informed me that I shall need much coaching in it to be fit for London. And l am sure that you must be the greatest expert in the room.” She was very red by the end of this speech.

    Dorian was also very flushed. He bowed, offered her his arm, and was able to say no more than: “I should be honoured.”

    It was not until they had been dancing for some little time that he was himself enough to say with a teasing smile: “Should you be waltzing at all, though, Miss Jubb? If you are not yet officially out?”

    “Who knows? I dare say I should not!” she said with a little laugh. “Shall we stop, or is my reputation irreparably destroyed, do you think?”

    “Oh. I think we need not go that far: for your amiable acquaintance Mrs Purdue is not here, I believe?”

    Jo laughed again.

    Dorian was now feeling quite tremendously pleased with himself. He held her a little closer.

    Johanna’s waltzing was quite adequate, for her aunt had seen to it that she had been well taught by the best dancing master Edinburgh could provide. But she had not previously waltzed with a gentleman: this was quite different from the dancing master’s proper tuition. Her heart soared: it was like—like flying! When the dance ended her knees shook a little as he raised her hand silently to his lips.

    “Should you care to sit out? Perhaps have a glass of refreshment?” Dorian then said in a voice that frankly trembled.

    “Yes,” croaked Jo in what she did not recognize as her own tones. “Thank you.”

    “My Heavens! It has dawned upon her!” said Mrs Urqhart limply, sagging on her sofa.

    Gaetana had sat down beside her. “But—but you know perfectly well that she was aware of it, dear Mrs Urqhart,” she said in bewilderment, following the old lady’s gaze.

    “No, you fool,” she said tersely. “Not that! No: she’s noticed that he’s a very taking young gent! –Here, don’t that teasing smile of his do things to your innards?” she noted by the by.

    Gaetana had to swallow. “Well—I do not deny that he can be very charming.”

    “Aye, but until this second as we speaks, me love, Jo was a-denyin’ of it!” she said with a chuckle.

    “I see,” said Gaetana weakly.

    “Would you fan me a bit, me deary? I am quite overcome!” confessed the old lady. “Look at her! She is positively blushing!”

    Gaetana took her immense fan of emerald ostrich feathers on ivory sticks and unfurled it. “Yes,” she said, beginning to fan her gently. “Indeed she is. Are—are you pleased, dear Mrs Urqhart?”

    The old lady sighed. “On the one hand, to see her become aware she is a woman—aye, of course. But whether it will work out with that specific young gent— Well, they ain’t got much in common. But I will say, although she is a bright girl, she ain’t in your Hildy’s class!”

    “Er—no.”

    “So we can hope as it won’t be another case of the Sir Julians, all over again,” concluded Mrs Urqhart.

    “Oh! Hildy and I were thinking the very thing!”

    “Was you? And she did not mind to speak of it?”

    “Well, no,” owned Gaetana.

    “Then she is well and truly over anything she may have felt for him,” she noted.

    “Sí,” said Gaetana.

    Mrs Urqhart gave her a sharp glance and patted her knee. “Now, now, now, me deary!”

    “Mrs Urqhart, the Major has scarcely glanced at her, let alone asked her to dance!” she whispered through trembling lips.

    “Mm. I wouldn’t say as he was a man to rush his fences. And then, that arm may be bothering him some.”—Gaetana looked at her dubiously.—“Not physical, I don’t mean. Only—well, look at her!”

    Hildy was still immersed in conversation with the crippled Mr Gerrity. Gaetana looked, and bit her lip. “Mm.”

    “Aye. Well, they tells me the boy is the clever one of the family, and no doubt him and Hildy is talkin’ about books and such. But that don’t mean a big, strong man like the Major what has been used to being his own master this I-dunnamany years is going to want to be put in the same box with that poor little fellow,” she said in her forthright way.

    “I see what you mean,” admitted Gaetana in a very restricted voice.

    Mrs Urqhart patted her knee again. “Aye, out of course you do, me love, you ain’t stupid. And then, you know, people has to take it at their own pace. –Now, I ain’t making that clear, am I?” she said to the girl’s puzzled face. “Um, well, although it’s clear the Major admires her, I would say he ain’t at the point yet of making up his mind about whether he might wish to marry and set up his nursery.”

    Gaetana swallowed. “I was so sure, the night he brought Bunch back…”

    “Aye, well,” she said, shaking her head, today adorned with a bonnet of a very bright blue silk with pink roses and bows, and fond though she was of Mrs Urqhart Gaetana could not repress a wish that someone had suggested gently to her that it was an unwise choice with that fan, and that both were unwise with the fawn velvet afternoon dress lavishly trimmed with blond lace and coquelicot ribbons. “It’s like I was sayin’, me dear: a man must go at his own pace.”

    “I see,” said Gaetana with a sigh.

    On the far side of the room a very similar conversation had just taken place between the Marquis and Lady Dezzie. With the former in the rôle of Gaetana and the latter in that of Mrs Urqhart. It had ended with his Lordship in a state of silent, frowning annoyance.

    “For that matter,” added Dezzie in an indifferent tone, “you haven’t danced with Gaetana, yet.”

    “I haven’t been able to get near her,” he said, frowning.

    Lady Desdemona had recently received a Royal invitation. Naturally she had then forced a full explanation out of her brother. She looked at him drily. “Lost your nerve? Feel you have crammed a fence or two?”

    “No,” he said, scowling.

    “Well, of course I haven’t seen that much of her, except during the hunt or an occasional shooting party: hardly ever comes to call when others of the family do.”—Rockingham glared.—“Only I’d say she isn’t the type of girl to take kindly to all this scheming and trickery you appear to have been up to. And does she know yet that Wellington is due at the Place for the New Year?”

    “No,” he said, scowling even more horribly. “Well, I at least have not told her.”

    “Mm. Well, there’s a few blabbermouths around that might have.” Her eyes followed the joint progress of Mlle Girardon, Mr Eric Charleson, Mr Luís Ainsley and her own daughter towards the table of light refreshments.

    “I have asked Paul not to mention it as yet to the members of his family,” he said stiffly.

    “Oh, aye? Asked his papa as well, have you?”

    Rockingham glared.

    “Go on,” she said in a tolerant voice. “They’re about to strike up again. Nothing venture, nothing win.”—The Marquis hesitated.—“At least it will show the girl you’re aware of her as a human being, and not just as a pawn on this damned elaborate chess-board you have set up.”

    “She is not a pawn!” he said angrily.

    “All right, Giles,” returned his sister affably: “the queen, then.”

    Rockingham’s fists clenched. After a moment he said: “Very well, I shall.” And strode off.

    Dezzie watched with interest. She could not but feel that her brother had gone about solving his dilemma in quite the wrong fashion: Miss Ainsley appeared to her to be the sort of young woman who would despise anything underhand and resent very much anything that smacked of manipulation. And in Desdemona’s opinion, Giles’s late manoeuvrings were both underhand and manipulative. Added to which he had, in his usual fashion, tackled the thing like a bull at a gate.

    “Go on, my lovey, you go and dance,” said Mrs Urqhart in a tolerant voice that did not sound particularly interested in the matter, as the Marquis bowed before them.

    Gaetana bit her lip. “Thank you,” she said faintly to his Lordship.

    Mrs Urqhart’s solid shoulders shook silently as he led her off.

    It was another waltz. Rockingham’s pulses pounded, though he held her lightly and properly. He was incapable of speech at first. She did not say anything, either.

    The dance was half over before he managed: “You must be expecting the house-party to be augmented for the festive season, I imagine?”

    “Yes: the Parkinsons and Mr O’Flynn are due at the end of the week.” Gaetana hesitated, then added with a forced smile: “Bunch has already wondered several times that they did not care to come in time for Francisco’s wedding.”

    “Aye, she mentioned it to me,” he said with a little smile.

    “She has been driving Harry crazy with her continual comments and questions. Unfortunately it had not struck us that she had never attended a wedding before, so no-one attempted to describe the ceremony to her. And then, she apparently expected Jake’s to be replica of Francisco’s.”

    “Yes, I got that impression, too.”

    After a moment Gaetana said in a small voice: “It was very kind in you to dance with her, sir.”

    “I am very fond of her. And, indeed, of your other sister. –Is it my imagination, or has Miss Maria grown a little?” he added, smiling.

    “A whole inch!” said Gaetana with a little laugh. “But Bunch has grown several inches, and is determined to catch up on her!”

    “Mm, I am sure she will. Er, has anyone explained to Bunch,” he asked delicately, eyes twinkling, “that Bungo in the nature of things will outstrip her?”

    She swallowed. “Several people have tried to!”

    He laughed, and unconsciously held her a little tighter.

    Gaetana was silent as they circled the room.

    Finally Rockingham swallowed and said in a very low voice: “Have you thought any more about what I said to you?”

    Dezzie’s opinion had been quite correct, and Gaetana had been filled for days with a mixture of resentment and indignation at his Lordship’s manipulative manoeuvrings. It was, therefore, quite incomprehensible that she should find herself replying in a tiny voice: “Of course I have thought about it; how could I not?”

    His grasp tightened painfully on her hand. “And?”

    “I— Please do not,” she said, very faintly. “It is not the time or the place.”

    Rockingham hesitated. Then he said: “Your Uncle Pedro is about to receive recognition for the family’s support of Wellington’s troops from the hands of the Prince Regent himself, you know.”

    “Lord Rockingham,” said Gaetana, a little smile wavering on her lips: “I have heard you with my own ears refer to His Royal Highness as ‘that fat, scoundrelly German.’”

    “Oh, was that all?” he said in mild surprize.

    Gaetana gulped.

    “No, but you must surely be aware,” he said with a smile in his voice. “that it is the office which counts, not the man.”

    “Sí,” she said faintly.

    “I do so love the way you say that,” he said in a low voice.

    She gulped again.

    There was a short silence. Then Rockingham said: “The Duke of Wellington is—” He hesitated. “How can I put it? He is très reconnaissant envers votre père.”

    “That is not amusing,” she said between her teeth.

    “It is quite true,” he returned placidly.

    “He told Harry himself it would be unwise to return to England permanently.”

    “Nevertheless he feels that some recognition should be paid him for the services he rendered his country.”

    “That is a lie,” said Gaetana between her teeth.

    “How can I prove it you?” he wondered plaintively.

    She looked up at him sharply.

    “If it should be proven to you, and made clear besides that your father is accepted in the highest circles—I will not say the best, for we are agreed that it is the office in question, not the man—will you reconsider your answer to me, Miss Ainsley?”

    Gaetana trembled a little.

    “Well? –It is English custom,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “that the lady reply in such circumstances, Miss Ainsley.”

    “I know that,” she said faintly. “But I—I can’t.”

    The Marquis appeared satisfied. At all events he did not attempt to argue with her, or persuade her further. Gaetana, who had expected to find herself argued with or persuaded further, felt very much as if the wind had been taken out of her sails.

    The dance soon came to an end; he took her hand and pressed a kiss into its palm. “I shall look for an answer—let me see—on the first of March next!” he said lightly.

    The Royal occasion to which they had been bidden was to take place on the twenty-sixth of February, so Gaetana could not feel that this was a coincidental date. Her knees had shaken when he had kissed her hand: now she looked at him in dazed indignation.

    “A bientôt!” he said with a little smile.

    “A bientôt, M. le Marquis,” replied Gaetana in a blank voice.

    He bowed very low, turned on his heel, and left the ballroom.

    Gaetana tottered to a seat by the wall and sank onto it.

    “All of a doo-dah, ain’t she?” noted Mrs Urqhart pleasedly to Lady Ainsley.

    “Bouleversée,” agreed Marinela pleasedly.

    Neither lady would have been able to translate the other’s choice of phrase; nevertheless they beamed at each other in a state of perfect understanding.