Chapter 1

Upon her butler’s announcing the arrival of Mr Ravenscar, Lady Mablethorpe, who had been dozing over a novel from the Circulating Library, sat up with a jerk, and raised a hand to her dishevelled cap. “What’s that you say? Mr. Ravenscar? Desire him to come upstairs at once.”

While the butler went to convey this message to the morning-caller, her ladyship tidied her ruffled person, fortified herself with a sniff at her vinaigrette, and disposed herself on the sofa to receive her guest.

The gentleman who was presently ushered into the room was some twenty years her junior, and looked singularly out of place in a lady’s boudoir. He was very tall, with a good pair of legs, encased in buckskins and topboots, fine broad shoulders under a coat of superfine cloth, and a lean, harsh-featured countenance with an uncompromising mouth and extremely hard grey eyes. His hair, which was black, and slightly curling, was cut into something perilously near a Bedford crop. Lady Mablethorpe, who belonged to an older generation, and herself continued to make free use of the pounce-box, in spite of Mr Pitt’s iniquitous tax on hair-powder, could never look upon the new heads without a shudder. She shuddered now, as her affronted gaze took in not only her nephew’s abominable crop but also the careless set of his coat, his topboots, the single spur he wore, and the negligent way he had tied his cravat, and thrust its ends through a gold-edged buttonhole. She raised the vinaigrette to her nostrils again, and said in a fading voice: “Upon my word, Max! Whenever I clap eyes on you I fancy I can smell the stables!”

Mr Ravenscar strolled across the room, and took up a position with his back to the fire. “And can you?” he inquired amiably.

Lady Mablethorpe chose to ignore this exasperating question. “Why, in the name of heaven, only one spur?” she demanded.

“That’s the high kick of fashion,” said Ravenscar.

“It makes you look for all the world like a postilion.”

“It’s meant to.”

“And you know very well that you do not care a snap for the fashion! I beg you will not teach Adrian to make such a vulgar spectacle of himself!”

Mr Ravenscar raised his brows. “I’m not likely to put myself to so much trouble,” he said.

This assurance did nothing to mollify his aunt. She said severely that the fashion of waiting upon ladies in garments fit only for Newmarket was not one which she had until this day encountered.

“I’ve this instant ridden into town,” said Mr Ravenscar, with an indifference which robbed his explanation of all semblance of apology. “I thought you wanted to see me.”

“I have been wanting to see you these five days and more. Where in the world have you been, tiresome creature? I drove round to Grosvenor Square, only to find the house shut up, and the knocker off the door.”

“I’ve been down at Chamfreys.”

“Oh, indeed! Well, I’m sure I hope you found your Mama in good health—not but what it’s the height of absurdity to call Mrs Ravenscar your mother, for she’s no such thing, and of all the foolish—”

“I don’t,” said Ravenscar briefly.

“Well, I hope you found her in good health,” repeated Lady Mablethorpe, a trifle disconcerted.

“I didn’t find her at all. She is at Tunbridge Wells, with Arabella.”

At the mention of her niece, Lady Mablethorpe’s eyes brightened. “The dear child!” she said. “And how is she, Max?”

The thought of his young half-sister appeared to afford Mr Ravenscar no gratification. “She’s a devilish nuisance,” he replied.

A shade of uneasiness crossed her ladyship’s plump countenance. “Oh, indeed? Of course, she is very young, and I daresay Mrs Ravenscar indulges her more than she should. But—”

“Olivia is as big a fool as Arabella,” responded Ravenscar shortly. “They are both coming up to town next week. The 14th Foot are stationed near the Wells.”

This grim pronouncement apparently conveyed a world of information to Lady Mablethorpe. After a somewhat pensive pause, she said: “It is time dear Arabella was thinking of marriage. After all, I was married when I was scarce—”

“She never thinks of anything else,” said Ravenscar. “The latest is some nameless whelp in a scarlet coat.”

“You ought to keep her more under your eye,” said his aunt. “You are as much her guardian as Mrs Ravenscar.”

“I’m going to,” said Ravenscar.

“Perhaps if we could marry her suitably—”

“My dear ma’am,” said Mr Ravenscar impatiently, “Arabella is no more fit to be married than if she were still in long coats! I have it from Olivia that she has been head over ears in love with no fewer than five aspiring gentlemen in as many months.”

“Good God, Max! If you don’t take care, we shall have some dreadful fortune-hunter running off with her!”

“It wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

Lady Mablethorpe showed slight signs of agitation. “You are the most provoking creature! How can you talk in that cool way about such a disastrous possibility?”

“Well, at least I should be rid of her,” said Mr Ravenscar callously. “If you’re thinking of marrying her to Adrian, I can tell you now that—”

“Oh, Max, that is what I wanted to see you about!” interrupted his aunt, recalled by the mention of her son’s name to the more pressing problem of the moment. “I am quite distracted with worry!”

“Oh?” said Ravenscar, with casual interest. “What’s the young fool been doing?”

Lady Mablethorpe bristled instinctively at this uncomplimentary description of her only child, but a moment’s reflection brought the unwelcome conviction that the slighting term had been earned. “He thinks he is in love,” she said tragically.

Mr Ravenscar was unmoved. “He’ll think it a good many times for the next five or six years. How old is the cub?”

“Considering you are one of his trustees, you surely know that he is not yet twenty-one!”

“Forbid the banns, then,” recommended Mr Ravenscar flippantly.

“I wish you will be serious! This is no laughing matter! He will be of age in a couple of months now! And before we know where we are we shall have him married to some scheming hussy.”

“I should think it extremely unlikely, ma’am. Let the boy alone. Damme, he must cut his milk teeth sometime!”

Lady Mablethorpe flushed angrily. “It is all very well for you to stand there, talking in that odious way, as though you did not care a fig, but—”

“I’m only responsible for his fortune,” he said.

“I might have known you would have come here only to be disagreeable! Wash your hands of my poor boy by all means: I’m sure it’s only what I expected. But don’t blame me if he contracts the most shocking misalliance!”

“Who is the girl?” asked Mr Ravenscar.

“A creature—oh, a hussy—out of a gaming-house!”

“What?” demanded Ravenscar incredulously.

“I thought you would not be quite so cool when you heard the full sum of it!” said her ladyship, with a certain morbid satisfaction. “I was never so appalled in my life as when I heard of it! I went immediately to your house. Something must be done, Max!”

He shrugged. “Oh, let him amuse himself! It don’t signify. She may cost him less than an opera-dancer.”

“She will cost him a great deal more!” said her ladyship tartly. “He means to marry the creature!”

“Nonsense! He’s not such a fool. One does not marry women out of gaming-houses.”

“I wish you will tell him so, for he will pay no heed to anything I say. He will have us believe that the girl is quite something out of the common way, if you please. Of course, it is as clear as daylight. The dear boy is as innocent as a lamb, and full of the most nonsensical romantic notions! That hateful, vulgar, scheming woman lured him to her house, and the niece did the rest. You may depend upon it she meant to have him from the start. Sally Repton tells me that it is positively absurd to see how Adrian worships the wench. There is no doing anything with him. She will have to be bought off: That is why I sent for you.” She observed a distinctly saturnine look in Mr Ravenscar’s eye, and added with something of a snap: “You need not be afraid, Max. I hope I know better than to expect you to lay out any of your odious wealth on the business!”

“I hope you do, aunt, for I shall certainly do no such thing.”

“It would be a very odd thing if anyone were to ask you to,” she said severely. “Not but what you would scarcely notice the expenditure, as wealthy as you are. Indeed, I cannot imagine how you contrive to spend half of your income, and I must say, Max, that nobody would suppose, from the appearance you present, that you are quite the richest man in town.”

“Are you complimenting me upon my lack of ostentation, ma’am?”

“No, I am not,” said her ladyship acidly. “There is nothing I have ever felt the least desire to compliment you on. I wish to heaven there were someone other than yourself to whom I could turn in this fetch. You are hard, and unfeeling, Max, and excessively selfish.”

He sought in the recesses of his pocket for his snuff box, and drew it out, and opened it. “Try Uncle Julius,” he suggested.

“That old woman!” exclaimed Lady Mablethorpe, disposing of her brother-in-law in one contemptuous phrase. “Pray, what could he do to the purpose?”

“Sympathize with you,” said Mr Ravenscar, taking snuff. He saw the vinaigrette come into play, and shut his snuff box with a snap. “Well, you had better tell me who this Cyprian of Adrian’s is.”

“She is that vulgar Lady Bellingham’s niece—or so they pretend,” answered Lady Mablethorpe, abandoning the vinaigrette. “You must know Eliza Bellingham! She keeps a gaming-house in St James’s Square.”

“One of the Archer-Buckingham kidney?”

“Precisely so. Well, I don’t say she is as bad as that precious pair, for, indeed, who could be?—but it’s all the same. She was Ned Bellingham’s wife, and I for one never thought her good ton at all, while we all know what Bellingham was!”

“I seem to be singularly ignorant.”

“Oh well, it was before your day! It doesn’t signify, for he’s been dead these fifteen years: drank himself into his grave, though they called it an inflammation of the lungs—fiddle! Of course he left her with a pile of debts, just as anyone might have expected. I’m sure I don’t know how she contrived to live until she started her wretched gaming-house: I daresay she might have rich relatives. But that’s neither here nor there. You may see her everywhere; she rents her box at the opera, even! but no person of ton will recognize her.”

“How does she fill her house, then? I suppose it is the usual thing?—discreet cards of invitation, handsome supper, any quantity of inferior wine, E.O. and faro-tables set out abovestairs?”

“I was referring to ladies of breeding,” said his aunt coldly. “It is well known, alas, that gentlemen will go anywhere for the sake of gaming!”

He made her a slight, ironical bow. “Also, if my memory serves me, Lady Sarah Repton.”

“I make no excuse for Sally. But duke’s daughter or not, I should never think of describing her as of good ton!”

He looked faintly amused. “I wish you will enlighten me: do you recognize her?”

“Don’t be absurd, I beg of you! Naturally Sally has the entree everywhere. Eliza Bellingham is quite another matter, and you may depend upon it that although Sally may go to her house, she does not set foot in Sally’s! It was Sally who warned me of what was going forward. As you may suppose, I immediately taxed Adrian with it.”

“That is what I supposed,” agreed Mr Ravenscar, looking sardonic.

Lady Mablethorpe cast him a glance of scornful dislike. “You need not imagine that I am a fool, Max. Of course I went tactfully about the business, never supposing for an instant that I should discover the affair to be more than a—than a—Well, you know what anyone would expect, hearing that a young man had become enamoured of a wench from a gaming-house! You may conceive my dismay when Adrian at once, and without the least hesitation, informed me that he was indeed madly in love with the girl, and meant to marry her! Max, I was so taken aback that I could not utter a word!”

“Has he taken leave of his senses?” demanded Mr Ravenscar.

“He is just like his father,” said Lady Mablethorpe, in a despairing way. “Depend upon it, he has taken some romantic maggot into his head! You know how he was for ever reading tales of chivalry, and such nonsense, when he was a boy! This is what comes of it! I wish I had sent him to Eton.”

Mr Ravenscar raised his eyes, and thoughtfully contemplated the portrait which hung on the wall opposite to him. It depicted a young man in a blue coat, who looked out of the picture with a faint smile in his fine eyes. He was a handsome young man, hardly more than a boy. He wore his own fair hair tied in the nape of his neck, and supported his chin on one slender, beautiful hand. His expression was one of great sweetness, but there was a hint of obstinacy in the curve of his lips, at odd variance with the dreamy softness of his eyes.

Lady Mablethorpe followed the direction of her nephew’s gaze, and herself studied, with misgiving, the portrait of the 4 th Viscount. A despondent sigh escaped her; she transferred her attention to Mr Ravenscar. “What’s to be done, Max?” she asked.

“He can’t marry the wench.”

“Will you speak to him?”

“Certainly not.”

“It is very difficult to do so, I own, but he might be brought to attend to you.”

“I can conceive of nothing more unlikely. What figure will you go to buy the girl off?”

“No sacrifice would be too great to save my son from such an entanglement! I shall rely on you, for I know nothing of such matters. Only rescue the poor boy!”

“It will go very much against the grain,” said Ravenscar grimly.

Lady Mablethorpe stiffened. “Indeed! Pray, what may you mean by that?”

“A constitutional dislike of being bled, ma’am.”

“Oh!” she said, relaxing. “You may console yourself with the reflection that it is I, not you, being bled.”

“It is a slight consolation,” he admitted.

“I have not the least doubt that you will find the girl rapacious. Sally tells me that she is at least five years older than Adrian.”

“She’s a fool if she accepts less than ten thousand,” said Ravenscar.

Lady Mablethorpe’s jaw dropped. “Max!”

He shrugged. “Adrian is not precisely a pauper, my dear aunt. There is also the title. Ten thousand.”

“It seems wicked!”

“It is wicked.”

“I should like to strangle the abominable creature!”

“Unfortunately, the laws of this land preclude your pursuing that admirable course.”

“We shall have to pay,” she said, in a hollow voice. “It would be useless, I am persuaded, to appeal to the woman.”

“You would make a great mistake to betray so much weakness.”

“Nothing would induce me to speak to such a woman! Only fancy, Max! She presides over the tables in that horrid house! You may imagine what a bold, vulgar piece she is! Sally says that all the worst rakes in town go there, and she bestows her favours on such men as that dreadful Lord Ormskirk. He is for ever at her side. I daresay she is more to him than my deluded boy dreams of. But it is useless to suggest such a thing! He fired up in an instant.”

“Ormskirk, eh?” said Ravenscar thoughtfully. “That settles it: any attempt to bring to reasonable terms a lady in the habit of encouraging his attentions would certainly be doomed to failure. I had thought better of Adrian.”

“You can’t blame him,” said Lady Mablethorpe. “What experience has he had of such people? Ten to one, the girl told him some affecting story about herself! Besides, she is quite lovely, according to what Sally Repton says. I suppose there is no hope of her deciding in Ormskirk’s favour?”

“Not the smallest chance of it, I imagine. Ormskirk won’t marry her.”

Lady Mablethorpe showed signs of dissolving into tears. “Oh, Max, what is to be done if she won’t relinquish him?”

“She must be made to relinquish him.”

“If it were not for the unsettled state of everything on the Continent, I should feel inclined to send him abroad! Only I daresay he would refuse to go.”

“Very likely.”

Lady Mablethorpe dabbed at her eyes. “It would kill me if my son were to be caught by such a female!”

“I doubt it, but you need not put yourself about, ma’am. He will not be caught by her.”

She was a little comforted by this pronouncement. “I knew I could rely upon you, Max! What do you mean to do?”

“See the charmer for myself,” he replied. “St James’s Square, you said?”

“Yes, but you know how careful these houses have to be, Max, on account of the law-officers. I daresay they won’t admit you, if you have no card.”

“Not admit the rich Mr Ravenscar?” he said cynically. “My dear aunt! I shall be welcomed with open arms.”

“Well, I hope they won’t fleece you,” said Lady Mablethorpe. “On the contrary, you hope they will,” he retorted. “But I am a very ill bird for plucking!

“If Adrian meets you there, he will suspect your purpose. He will certainly think that I sent you.”

“Deny it,” said Ravenscar, bored.

Lady Mablethorpe started to deliver herself of an improving lecture on the evils of deception, but, finding that her nephew was quite unimpressed, stopped, and said with a somewhat vindictive note in her voice: “I beg that you will take care, Max! They say the girl is like a honey-pot, and I’m sure I’ve no wish to see you caught in her toils.”

He laughed. “There is not the slightest need for you to concern yourself about me, ma’am. I am neither twenty years of age, nor of a romantic disposition. You had better not tell Adrian that I have been here. No doubt I shall see him in St James’s Square this evening.”

She held out her hand to him, a good deal mollified. “You are a most provoking man, Max, but indeed I don’t know what I should do without you! You will manage it all. I depend entirely upon you!”

“For once,” said Mr Ravenscar, raising her hand formally to his lips, “you may quite safely do so.”

He took his leave of her, and departed. She opened her book again, but sat for a few moments gazing into the fire, her mind pleasantly occupied with daydreams. Once extricated from his present predicament, she had great hopes that her son would have learnt his lesson, and keep clear of any further entanglements. The account Ravenscar had brought of his half-sister’s activities had not been entirely palatable, but Lady Mablethorpe was a broad-minded woman, disinclined to set much store by the vagaries of a young lady of only eighteen summers. To be sure, it was unfortunate that Arabella should be such a flirt, but what, in another damsel, would have been a shocking fault, was, in such a notable heiress, a mere whimsicality of youth. Flirt or not, Lady Mablethorpe had every intention of seeing Arabella married to her son. Nothing, she thought, could be more suitable. Arabella had birth, fortune, and prettiness; she had known her cousin intimately since babyhood, and would make him a very good wife. Lady Mablethorpe had not the smallest objection to the child’s liveliness: she thought it very taking, coupled, as it had always been, with a graceful, playful deference towards her aunt.

The recollection of the nameless suitor in a scarlet coat momentarily disturbed her ladyship’s complacent dream. She soon banished it, reflecting that Max could be counted upon to put a stop to any such nonsense. Callous he might be, but he was not at all the man to stand idle while Arabella bestowed herself and her eighty thousand pounds on some nobody in a line regiment. For herself, Lady Mablethorpe was obliged to admit that it would be a shocking thing for Arabella to bestow these rich gifts on any other man than young Lord Mablethorpe.

She was not, she insisted, a mercenary woman, and if her dearest boy disliked his cousin she would be the last to urge I, him into matrimony with her. But eighty thousand pounds, safely invested in the Funds! Any woman of common prudence must wish to see this fortune added to the family coffers, particularly since (if Max were to be believed) the staggering sum of ten thousand pounds would shortly have to be disgorged from the amassed interest of Adrian’s long minority. In this connexion, thought her ladyship, it was a fortunate circumstance that the conduct of all the business of the Mablethorpe estate had been left in Max’s capable hands rather than in the Honourable Julius Mablethorpe’s. There was no doubt that Max had a very shrewd head on his shoulders. Thanks, in a great measure, to his management, Adrian would find himself when he came of age (and in spite of the loss of that ten thousand pounds) the master of a very pretty fortune. It would not compare, of course, with the Ravenscar wealth, a melancholy circumstance which had for years caused her ladyship a quite irrational annoyance. She had even, upon occasion, wished that she had a daughter who might have married Max.

She could have borne it better if she could have had the satisfaction of seeing him squandering his wealth. But this solace was denied her. Mr Ravenscar had simple tastes. He kept up a large house in Grosvenor Square, to be sure, and his country estate, Chamfreys, was a noble mansion, with a deer park, some very good shooting, and a vast acreage attached to it but he held no magnificent house-parties there, which he might, thought his aggrieved aunt, very well have done, with his stepmother to play hostess. That would have given the second Mrs Ravenscar something better to think about than her health. The second Mrs Ravenscar’s health was a subject which, while it in no way concerned her, never failed to irritate Lady Mablethorpe. Her ladyship inhabited a very pretty house in Brook Street, but would infinitely have preferred to live in Grosvenor Square, where she could have entertained on a large scale. It was thus a source of continual annoyance to her that her sister-in-law should declare that the delicate state of her nerves could not support the racket of London, and should spend the best part of her time at Bath, or Tunbridge Wells. Such parties as Max gave, therefore, were either bachelor gatherings, or of a nature which must preclude his asking his aunt to act as hostess for him. She wondered that he should care to live in solitary state in such a barrack of a house!

She wondered too, being herself a woman of gregarious tastes, that he should care so little for all the accepted pleasures of his world. You might look in vain for Mr Ravenscar at balls, ridottos, and masquerades: ten to one, he would be at a cockfight, or rubbing shoulders with prize-fighters in some vulgar tavern in Whitechapel. He was a member of a number of fashionable clubs, but rarely visited most of them. His aunt had heard that he played a good deal at Brooks’s, where the play was very deep, and she knew that his horses were the envy of his friends; but these were positively his only extravagances. While the town swarmed with Bucks and Jessamies, and even men who did not aspire to these heights of fashion would spend hours on the designing of a waistcoat, and fortunes on rings, fobs, shoebuckles, and pins, Mr Ravenscar wasted neither time nor money on anything but his boots (which were admittedly excellent), and had never been seen to wear any other ornament than the heavy gold signet ring which adorned his left hand.

He was thirty-five years of age, and it was now a considerable time since any but the most optimistic of match-making mothers had entertained hopes of his casting the handkerchief in her daughter’s direction. There had been a time when he had been the most courted man in London; invitations had showered upon him; the most wily traps had been laid for him; but the indifference with which he regarded all eligible females (an indifference which he was never at any pains to hide), his cold reserve, and his habit of pleasing himself upon all occasions, had at last convinced the disappointed matrons that there was nothing whatever to be hoped for from him, not even some pretty, expensive trinket to mark his regard for those ladies who thought themselves his friends. Mr Ravenscar gave nothing away. No use thinking that he would gallantly offer to frank you at whist, or silver loo; he was far more likely to rise from the table further enriched by your losses. It was small consolation to reflect that ladies of easier virtue with whom his name had been coupled from time to time had never been able to flaunt jewels of his bestowing: it merely showed him to be abominably tight-fisted, a shocking fault! He was held to be a proud, disagreeable man; his manners were not conciliating; and although the gentlemen said that he was a good sportsman, meticulous in all matters of play and pay, the ladies were much inclined to think him a rakish fellow, with a pronounced taste for low company.

Lady Mablethorpe, who relied upon his help, and had for years trusted his advice, condemned his rudeness, deplored his coldness of heart, stood just a little in awe of his occasionally blistering tongue, and hoped that somebody one day would teach him a much-needed lesson. It would serve him right if he were to lose a great deal of money in St James’s Square, for instance: ten thousand pounds, perhaps, which any man less odiously selfish would have offered to put up on behalf of his unfortunate young cousin.

Chapter 2

Mr Ravenscar was spared the necessity of trading upon his name and fortune, by encountering upon the doorstep of Lady Bellingham’s house in St James’s Square an acquaintance who was perfectly willing to introduce him to her ladyship. Mr Berkeley Crewe prophesied that the old girl would be delighted to welcome him, assured him that the play was fair, the wine very tolerable, and the suppers the best in town; and said that Lady Bel had quite cast Mrs Sturt and Mrs Hobart into the shade. The door being opened to them by a stalwart individual with a rugged countenance and a cauliflower ear, they passed into the lofty hall, Mr Crewe nodding in a familiar manner to the porter, and saying briefly: “Friend of mine, Wantage.”

Mr Wantage favoured the stranger with an appraising and a ruminative stare before offering to help him off with his greatcoat. Mr Ravenscar returned this with interest. “When were you in the Ring?” he asked.

Mr Wantage seemed pleased. “Ah, it’s a long time ago now!” he said. “Afore I joined the Army, that was. Fancy you aspotting that!”

“It wasn’t difficult,” replied Ravenscar, shaking out his ruffles.

“I was thinking you’d peel to advantage yourself, sir,” observed Mr Wantage.

Mr Ravenscar smiled slightly, but returned no answer. Mr Crewe, having adjusted his satin coat to his satisfaction, given a twitch to his lace, and anxiously scrutinized his appearance in the mirror on the wall, led the way to the staircase. Ravenscar, after glancing about him, and noting that the house was furnished in the first style of elegance, followed him up to a suite of saloons on the first floor.

Entering the gaming-rooms by the first door they came to, they found themselves in an apartment given over to deep basset. About a dozen persons were seated round a table, most of them so intent upon the cards that the entrance of the newcomers passed unnoticed. A deathly hush brooded over the room, in marked contrast to the cheerful hubbub in the adjoining saloon, towards which Mr Crewe led his friend. This was a noble apartment in the front of the house, hung with straw-coloured satin, and furnished with a number of chairs, tables, and stands for the punter’s rouleaus, and their glasses. At one end of the room a faro-bank was in full swing, presided over by a somewhat raddled lady in purple satin and a turban lavishly adorned with ostrich plumes; at the other end, nearer to the fire, a vociferous knot of persons was gathered round an E.O. table, which was being set in motion by a tall young woman with chestnut hair, glowing in the candlelight, and a pair of laughing, dark eyes set under slim, arched brows. Her luxuriant hair was quite simply dressed, without powder, being piled up on the top of her head, and allowed to fall in thick, smooth curls. One of these had slipped forward, as she bent over the table, and lay against her white breast. She looked up as Mr Crewe approached her, and Mr Ravenscar, dispassionately surveying her, had no difficulty at all in understanding why his young relative had so lamentably lost his head. The lady’s eyes were the most expressive and brilliant he had ever seen. Their effect upon an impressionable youth would, he thought, be most destructive. As a connoisseur of female charms, he could not but approve of the picture Miss Grantham presented. She was built on queenly lines, carried her head well, and possessed a pretty wrist, and a neatly turned ankle. She looked to have a good deal of humour, and her voice, when she spoke, was low-pitched and pleasing. On one side of her, lounging over a chairback, an exquisite in a striped coat and a powdered wig watched the spin of the table in a negligent, detached fashion; on the other, Mr Ravenscar’s cousin had no eyes for anything but Miss Grantham’s face.

Miss Grantham, seeing a stranger crossing the room in Mr Crewe’s wake, looked critically at him. Trained by necessity to sum up a man quickly, she was yet hard put to it to place Mr Ravenscar. His plain coat, the absence of any jewels or furbelows, did not argue a fat bank-roll, but his air was one of unconscious assurance, as though he was accustomed to going where he chose, and doing what he pleased in any company. If at first glance she had written him down as a country bumpkin, this impression was swiftly corrected. He might be carelessly dressed, but no country tailor had fashioned that plain coat, she decided.

She turned her head towards the middle-aged exquisite leaning on the chairback. “Who is our new friend, my lord? A Puritan come amongst us?”

The exquisite languidly raised a quizzing-glass, and levelled it. Under its elaborate maquillage his thin, handsome face was curiously lined. His brows went up. “That is no Puritan,, my dear,” he said, in a light, bored voice. “It is a very fat pigeon indeed. In fact, it is Ravenscar.”

This pronouncement brought young Lord Mablethorpe’s head round with a jerk. He stared incredulously at his cousin, and ejaculated: “Max!”

There was astonishment in his tone, not unmixed with suspicion. His fair countenance flushed boyishly, making him look younger than ever, and not a little guilty. He stepped forward, saying rather defensively: “I did not expect to see you here!”

“Why not?” asked Ravenscar calmly.

“I don’t know. That is, I did not think—Do you know Lady Bellingham?”

“I am relying upon Crewe to present me to her.”

“Oh! It was Crewe who brought you!” said his lordship, a little relieved. “I thought—at least, I wondered—But it doesn’t signify!”

Mr Ravenscar eyed him with a kind of bland surprise. “You seem to be most unaccountably put-out by my arrival, Adrian. What have I done to incur your disapproval?”

Lord Mablethorpe blushed more hotly than ever, and grasped his arm in a quick, friendly gesture. “Oh, Max, you fool! Of course you haven’t done anything! Indeed, I’m very glad to see you! I want to make you known to Miss Grantham. Deb! This is my cousin, Mr Ravenscar. I daresay you will have heard of him. He is a notable gamester, I can tell you!”

Miss Deborah Grantham, encountering Mr Ravenscar’s hard grey eyes, was not sure that she liked him. She acknowledged his bow with the smallest of curtseys, and said lightly: “You are very welcome, sir, and have certainly come to the right house. You know Lord Ormskirk, I believe?”

The middle-aged exquisite and Ravenscar exchanged nods. A large, loose-Embed man, standing on the other side of the table, said, with a twinkle: “Don’t be shy, Mr Ravenscar: we’re all mighty anxious to win your money! But, I warn you, Miss Grantham’s luck is in—isn’t it, me darlin’?—and the bank’s been winning this hour and more.”

“It’s commonly the way of E.O. banks—to win,” remarked a metallic, faintly sneering voice at Ravenscar’s elbow. “Servant, Ravenscar!”

Mr Ravenscar, responding to this salutation, made a mental vow to rescue his cousin from the society into which he had been lured if he had to knock him out and kidnap him to do it. The Earl of Ormskirk, Sir James Filey, and—as a comprehensive glance round the room had informed him—all the more hardened gamesters who frequented Pall Mall and its environs were no fit companions for a youth scarcely out of swaddling-bands. It would, at that moment, have given Mr Ravenscar great pleasure to have seen Miss Grantham standing in the pillory, together with her aunt, and every other brelandiere who seduced green young men to ruin in these polite gaming-houses.

Nothing of this appeared in his face as he accepted Miss Grantham’s invitation to make his bet. E.O. tables held not the slightest lure for him, but since he had come to St James’s Square for the purpose of getting upon easy terms with Miss Grantham, and judged that the quickest way of doing this was to spend as much money as possible in her house, he spent the next half-hour punting recklessly on the spin of the table.

Meanwhile, the dowager at the faro-table, who was Lady Bellingham, had discovered his identity, and was pleasantly fluttered. One of her neighbours informed her that Ravenscar had twenty or thirty thousand pounds a year, but tempered these glad tidings by adding that he was said to have the devil’s own luck at all games of chance. If this were so, it was out tonight. Mr Ravenscar went down to the tune of five hundred guineas in the short time he spent at the E.O. table. While affecting an interest he was far from feeling in the gyrations of the little ball, he had the opportunity he sought of observing Miss Grantham. He was also obliged to observe his cousin’s lover-like attentions to the lady, a spectacle which made him feel physically unwell. Adrian’s frank blue eyes openly adored her; he paid very little attention to anyone else; and his attitude towards Lord Ormskirk reminded Ravenscar strongly of a dog guarding a bone.

Ormskirk seemed faintly amused. Several times he addressed some provocative remark to Adrian, as though he derived a sadistic pleasure from baiting the boy. Several times Adrian seemed to be on the verge of bursting into intemperate speech, but on each such occasion Miss Grantham intervened, turning his lordship’s poisoned rapier aside with considerable deftness, tossing a laughing rejoinder to him, soothing Adrian by a swift, intimate smile which seemed to assure him that between him and her there was a secret understanding which Ormskirk’s sallies could not impair.

Ravenscar allowed her to be a very clever young woman, and liked her none the better for it. She was holding two very different lovers on the lightest of reins, and so far she had not tangled the ribbons. But although Adrian might be easy to handle, Ormskirk was of another kidney, reflected Ravenscar, with grim satisfaction.

His lordship, who was nearer fifty years of age than forty, had been twice married, and was again a widower. It was popularly supposed that he had driven both his wives into their graves. He had several daughters, none yet having emerged from the schoolroom, and one son, still in short coats. His household was presided over by his sister, a colourless woman, prone to tears, which perhaps accounted for the fact of his lordship’s being so seldom to be found at home. Both his marriages had been prudent, if unexciting, and since he had for years been in the habit of seeking his pleasures in the arms of a succession of fair Cyprians, it was in the highest degree unlikely that he was contemplating a third venture into matrimony. If he were, he would not look for his new bride in a gaming-house, Mr Ravenscar knew. His designs on Miss Grantham were strictly dishonourable; and, judging by his cool air of ownership, he was very sure of her, too sure to be discomposed by the calf-love of a younger suitor.

But Ravenscar knew Ormskirk too well to feel easy in his mind. If Miss Grantham were to decide that marriage with Adrian would be better worth her while than a more elastic connexion with Ormskirk, Adrian would have acquired a very dangerous enemy. No consideration of his youth would weigh for an instant with one whose pride it was to be considered deadly either with the small-sword, or the pistol. It was perfectly well known to Ravenscar that Ormskirk had thrice killed his man in a duel; and he began to perceive that the extrication of his cousin from Miss Grantham’s toils was a matter of even greater urgency than he had at first supposed.

The third gentleman who appeared to have claims on Miss Grantham was the man who had so cheerfully hailed him upon his first approaching the table. He seemed to be on intimate terms with the lady, but was resented neither by Adrian nor by Lord Ormskirk. He was a pleasant fellow, with smiling eyes, and an engaging address. Mr Ravenscar would have been much surprised to have found that he was not a soldier of fortune. Miss Grantham called him Lucius; he called Miss Grantham his darling, with an easy familiarity that indicated long friendship, or some fonder relationship. Miss Grantham, thought Mr Ravenscar, was altogether too free with her favours.

At one in the morning she relinquished the E.O. table, calling upon Mr Lucius Kennet to take her place at it. “Ah, I’m tired, and want my supper!” she said. “My Lord, will you take me down to supper? I swear I’m famished!”

“With the greatest pleasure on earth, my dear,” said Lord Ormskirk, in his weary voice.

“Oh course I will take you down, Deb!” said Lord Mablethorpe, offering his arm.

She stood between them, laughing dismay in her eyes, looking from one to the other. “Oh, I am overwhelmed, but indeed, indeed—”

Ravenscar walked forward. “Madam, you stand between two fires! Allow me to rescue you! May I have the honour of taking you down to supper?”

“Snatching a brand from the burning?” she said, in a rallying tone. “My lords!” She swept them a deep curtsey. “Pray forgive me!”

“Mr Ravenscar wins all,” said Sir James Filey, with one of his mocking smiles. “It is the way of the world!”

There was a flash of anger in her eyes, but she pretended not to hear and passed out of the room on Ravenscar’s arm.

There were already several people in the dining-room on the ground-floor, but Ravenscar found a seat for Miss Grantham at one of the smaller tables arranged beside the wall, and, having supplied her with some pickled salmon, and a glass of iced champagne, he sat down opposite her, picked up his own knife and fork, and said: “You must allow me to tell you, Miss Grantham, that I count myself fortunate in their lordships’ misfortune.”

The corners of her mouth lifted. “That’s mighty pretty of you, sir. I had the oddest fancy that you were not much in the way of making pretty speeches.”

“That depends on the company in which I find myself,” he replied.

She eyed him speculatively. “What brought you here?” she asked abruptly.

“Curiosity, Miss Grantham.”

“Is it satisfied?”

“Oh, not yet, ma’am! Let me give you some of these green peas; they are quite excellent!”

“Yes, we pride ourselves on the quality of our suppers,” she said. “Why did you play at E.O.? Is not faro your game?”

“Curiosity again, Miss Grantham. My besetting sin.”

“Curiosity to see a female elbow-shaker, sir?”

“Just so,” he agreed.

“Was that why you came?”

“Of course,” he said coolly.

She laughed. “Well, I did not think when I saw you that you were a gamester!”

“Did you take me for a flat, Miss Grantham?”

Her eyes twinkled rather attractively. “Why, yes, for a moment I did! But Lord Ormskirk put all my hopes to flight. The rich Mr Ravenscar’s luck at the bones or the cards is proverbial.”

“It was out tonight.”

“Oh, you do not care a fig for that silly game! I wish you may not break my aunt’s faro-bank.”

“If you will inform the stalwart person at your door that I am free to enter the house, I promise I shall endeavour to do so when I come again.”

“You must know that all doors are open to the rich Mr Ravenscar—particularly such doors as this.”

“Make it plain, then, to your henchman, or you may have a brawl upon your doorstep.”

“Ah, Silas is too knowing a one! Only law-officers and their spies are refused admittance here, and he would smell one at sixty paces.”

“What a valuable acquisition he must be to you!”

“It would be impossible to imagine an existence without him. He was my father’s sergeant. I have known him from my cradle.”

“Your father was a military man?” said Mr Ravenscar, slightly raising his brows.

“Yes, at one time.”

“And then?”

“You are curious again, Mr Ravenscar?”

“Very.”

“He was a gamester. It runs in the blood, you observe.”

“That would account for your presence here, of course.”

“Oh, I have been familiar with gaming-houses from my childhood up! I can tell a Greek, or a Captain Sharp, within ten minutes of his entering the room; I could play the groom porter for you, or deal for a faro-bank; I can detect a bale of flat conquer deuces as quickly as you could yourself; and the man who can fuzz the cards when I am at the table don’t exist.”

“You astonish me, Miss Grantham. You are indeed accomplished!”

“No,” she said seriously. “It is my business to know those things. I have no accomplishments. I do not sing, or play upon the pianoforte, or paint in water-colours. Those are accomplishments.”

“True,” he agreed. “But why repine? In certain circles they may be de rigueur, but they would be of very little use to you here, I imagine. You were wise to waste no time on such fripperies: you are already perfect for your setting, ma’am.”

“For my setting!” she repeated, flushing a little. “The devil! Your cousin is more complimentary!”

“Yes, I daresay he is,” replied Ravenscar, refilling her wineglass. “My cousin is very young and impressionable.”

“I am sure you, sir, are certainly not impressionable.”

“Not a bit,” he said cheerfully. “But I am perfectly ready to pay you any number of compliments, if that is what you wish.”

She bit her lip, saying, after a moment, with a suggestion of pique in her voice: “I don’t wish it at all.”

“In that cast,” said Ravenscar, “I feel that we shall deal extremely together. Do you play piquet?”

“Certainly.”

“Ah, but I mean do you play well enough to engage in a rubber with me?”

Miss Grantham eyed him with considerable hostility. “I am thought,” she said coldly, “to have a reasonably good understanding.”

“So have many others I could name, but that does not make them good card-players.”

Miss Grantham sat very straight in her chair. Her magnificent eyes flashed. “My skill at cards, Mr Ravenscar, has never yet been called in question!”

“But you have not played with me yet,” he pointed out.

“That is something that can be mended!” she retorted.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you dare, Miss Grantham?”

She gave a scornful laugh. “Dare! I? I will meet you when you choose, Mr Ravenscar, the stakes to be fixed by yourself!”

“Then let it be tonight,” he said promptly.

“Let it be at once!” she said, rising from her chair. He too rose, and offered his arm. His countenance was perfectly grave, but she had the impression that he was secretly laughing at her.

On the staircase they met Lord Mablethorpe, on his way down to supper. His face fell when he saw Miss Grantham. He exclaimed: “You have not finished supper already! I made sure of finding you in the dining-room! Oh, do come back, Deb! Come and drink a glass of wine with me!”

“You are too late,” said Ravenscar. “Miss Grantham is promised to me for the next hour.”

“For the next hour! Oh, come now, Max, that’s too bad! You are quizzing me!”

“Nothing of the sort: we are going to play a rubber or two of piquet.”

Adrian laughed. “Oh, poor Deb! Don’t play with him: he’ll fleece you shamefully!”

“If he does, I have a strong notion that it will rather be shamelessly!” Miss Grantham smiled.

“Indeed it will! There is not an ounce of chivalry in my cousin. I wish you will have nothing to do with him! Besides, it is so dull to be playing piquet all night! What is to become of me?”

“Why, if E.O. holds no charms for you, you may come presently and see how I am faring at your cousin’s hands.”

“I shall come to rescue you,” he promised.

She laughed, and passed on up the stairs to the gaming saloons. In the larger room, one or two small tables were set out; Miss Grantham led the way to one of these, and called to a waiter for cards. She looked speculatively at Ravenscar, as he seated himself opposite to her; his eyes met hers, and some gleam of mockery in them convinced her that he had been laughing at her. “You are the strangest man!” she said, in her frank way. “Why did you talk so to me?”

“To whet your curiosity,” he responded, with equal frankness.

“Good God, to what end, pray?”

“To make you play cards with me. You have so many noble admirers, ma’am, who pay you such assiduous court, that I could not suppose that a conciliating address would answer my purpose.”

“So you were rude to me, and rough! Upon my word, I do not know what you deserve, Mr Ravenscar!”

He turned to pick up the piquet-packs the waiter was offering him on a tray, and laid some card-money down in their place. “To be plucked, undoubtedly. What stakes do you like to play for, Miss Grantham?”

“You will recall, sir, that the decision was to rest with you.”

“Well,” he said, “let us make it ten shillings a point, since this is a mere friendly bout.”

Her eyes widened a little, for this was playing deep, but she said coolly: “What you will, sir. If you are satisfied, it is not for me to cavil.”

“What humility, Miss Grantham?” he said, shuffling one of the packs. “If you should find it insipid, we can always double the stakes.”

Miss Grantham agreed to it, and in a moment of bravado suggested that they should play for twenty-five pounds the rubber, in addition. On these terms they settled down to the game, the lady with her nerves on the stretch, the gentleman abominably casual.

It was soon seen that Mr Ravenscar was a much more experienced player than his opponent; his calculation of the odds was very nice; he played his cards well; and had a disconcerting trick of summing up Miss Grantham’s hands with sufficient accuracy to make him a very formidable adversary. She went down on the first rubber, but not heavily, taking him to three games. He agreed that the balance of the luck had been with him.

“I’m emboldened to think you don’t find my play contemptible, at all events,” Miss Grantham said.

“Oh, by no means!” he replied. “Your play is good, for a lady. You are weakest in your discards.”

Miss Grantham cut the pack towards him with something of a snap.

In the middle of the third rubber, Lord Mablethorpe came back into the saloon, and made his way to Miss Grantham’s side. “Are you ruined yet, Deb?” he asked, smiling warmly down at her.

“No such thing! We have lost a rubber apiece, and this one is to decide the issue. Hush, now! I am very much on my mettle, and can’t be distracted.”

He drew up a frail, gilded chair, and sat down astride it, resting his arms on the back. “You said I might watch you!”

“So you may, and bring me good fortune, I hope. Your point is good, Mr Ravenscar.”

“Also my quint, Miss Grantham?”

“That also.”

“Very well, then; a quint, a tierce, fourteen aces, three kings, and eleven cards played, ma’am.”

Miss Grantham cast a frowning glance at the galaxy of court cards which Ravenscar spread before her eyes, and a very dubious glance at the back of the one card remaining in his hand. “Oh, the deuce! All hangs upon this, and I swear there’s nothing to tell me what I should keep!”

“Nothing at all,” he said.

“A diamond!” she said, throwing down the rest of her hand. “You lose,” said Ravenscar, exhibiting a small club. “Piqued, repiqued, and capotted!” groaned Lord Mablethorpe. “Deb, my dearest, I warned you to have nothing to do with Max! Do come away!”

“I am not so poor-spirited! Do you care to continue, sir?”

“With all my heart!” said Mr Ravenscar, gathering up the cards. “You are a good loser, Miss Grantham.”

“Oh, I don’t regard this little reverse, I assure you! I am not rolled up yet!”

As the night wore on, however, she began to go down heavily, as though Ravenscar, trifling with her at first, had decided to exert his skill against her. She thought the luck favoured him, but was forced to acknowledge him to be her master.

“You make me feel like a greenhorn!” she said lightly, when he robbed her of a pique. “Monstrous of you to have kept the spade-guard! I did not look for such usage, indeed!”

“No, you would have thrown the little spade on the slim chance of picking up an ace or a king, would you not?”

“Oh, I always gamble on slim chances—and rarely lose! But you are a cold gamester, Mr Ravenscar!”

“I don’t bet against the odds, I own,” he smiled, beckoning to a waiter. “You’ll take a glass of claret, Miss Grantham?”

“No, not I! Nothing but lemonade, I thank you. I need to have my wits about me in this contest. But this must be our last rubber. I see my aunt going down to the second supper, and judge it must be three o’clock at least.”

Lord Mablethorpe, who had wandered away disconsolately some time before, came back to the table with a tale of losses at faro to report, and a complaint to utter that his Deb was neglecting him for his tiresome cousin. “How’s the tally?” he asked, leaning his hand on the back of her chair.

“Well, I am dipped a trifle, but not above two or three hundred pounds, I fancy.”

He said in an undervoice: “You know I hate you to do this!”

“You are interrupting the game, my dear.”

He muttered: “When we are married I shan’t permit it.”

She looked up, mischievously smiling. “When we are married, you foolish boy, I shall of course do exactly as you wish. Your deal, Mr Ravenscar!”

Mr Ravenscar, on whom this soft dialogue had not been wasted, picked up the pack, and wished that he had Miss Grantham’s throat in his strong, lean hands instead.

The last rubber went very ill for Miss Grantham. Ravenscar won it in two swift games, and announced the sum of her losses to be six hundred pounds. She took this without a blink, and turned in her chair to issue a low-voiced direction to Mr Lucius Kennet, who, with one or two others, had come to watch the progress of the game. He nodded, and moved away towards the adjoining saloon. Sir James Filey said mockingly: “How mistaken of you, my dear, to play against Ravenscar! Someone should have warned you.”

“You, for instance,” said Ravenscar, directing a glance up at him under his black brows. “Once bit twice shy, wasn’t it?”

Miss Grantham, who detested Sir James, cast her late opponent a grateful look. Sir James’s colour darkened, but the smile lingered on his lips, and he said equably: “Oh, picquet’s not my game! I will not meet you there. But in the field of sport, now—! That is a different matter!”

“Which field of sport?” inquired Ravenscar.

“Have you still a pair of match greys in your stable?” said Sir James, drawing out his snuff box.

“What, are you at that again? I still have them, and they will still beat any of the cattle you own.”

“I don’t think so,” said Sir James, taking snuff with an elegant turn of his wrist.

“I wouldn’t bet against them,” said a man in a puce coat, and a tie-wig. “I’d buy them, if you’d sell, Ravenscar.” Mr Ravenscar shook his head.

“Oh, Max wins all his races!” Lord Mablethorpe declared. “He bred those greys, and I’ll swear he wouldn’t part with them for a fortune. Have they ever been beaten, Max?”

“No. Not yet.”

“They have not yet been evenly matched,” said Sir James.

“You thought they were once,” remarked Ravenscar, with a slight smile.

“Oh, admittedly!” replied Filey, with an airy gesture. “I underrated them, like so many other men.”

Mr Lucius Kennet came back into the room, and laid some bills and a number of rouleaus on the table. Miss Grantham pushed them towards Mr Ravenscar. “Your winnings, sir.”

Mr Ravenscar glanced at them indifferently, and, stretching out his hand, picked up two of the bills, and held them crushed between his fingers. “Five hundred pounds on the table, Filey,” he said. “I will engage to drive my greys against any pair you may choose to match ’em with, over any distance you care to set, upon a day to be fixed by yourself.”

Lord Mablethorpe’s eyes sparkled. “A bet! Now what do you say, Filey?”

“Why, this is paltry!” said Sir James. “For five hundred pounds, Ravenscar? You don’t take me seriously, I fear!”

“Oh, we multiply the stake, of course!” said Ravenscar carelessly.

“Now I am with you!” said Sir James, putting his snuffbox back into his pocket. “Multiply it by what?”

“Ten,” said Ravenscar.

Miss Grantham sat very still in her chair, glancing from one man to the other. Lord Mablethorpe gave a whistle. “That’s five thousand!” he said. “I wouldn’t accept it! We all know your greys. Flying too high, Filey!”

“You’d accept it if I offered you odds,” said Ravenscar.

The man in the puce coat gave a laugh. “Gad’s life, there’s some pretty plunging in the wind! Do you take him, Filey?”

“With the greatest readiness in life!” said Sir James. He looked down at Ravenscar, still lying in his chair with one hand thrust deep into his pocket. “You’re very sure of your greys and your skill! .But I fancy I have you this time! Did you say you would offer me odds?”

“I did,” replied Mr Ravenscar imperturbably.

Lord Mablethorpe, who had been watching Sir James, said quickly: “Careful, Max! You don’t know, after all, what kind of a pair he may be setting against your greys!”

“Well, I hope they may be good enough to give me a race,” said Ravenscar.

“Just good enough for that,” smiled Sir James. “What odds will you offer against my unknown pair?”

“Five to one,” replied Ravenscar.

Even Sir James was startled. Lord Mablethorpe gave a groan, and exclaimed: “Max, you’re mad!”

“Or drunk,” suggested the man in the puce coat, shaking his head.

“Nonsense!” said Ravenscar.

“Are you serious?” demanded Filey. “Never more so.”

“Then, by God, I’ll take you! The race to be run a week from today, over a course to be later decided on. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” nodded Ravenscar.

Mr Kennet, who had been following the discussion with bright-eyed interest, said: “Ah,—now, we’ll record this bet, gentlemen! Waiter, fetch up the betting-book!”

Mr Ravenscar glanced at Miss Grantham, his lip curling.

“So you even have a betting-book!” he remarked. “You think of everything, don’t you, ma’am?”

Chapter 3

Mr Ravenscar left Lady Bellingham’s house while his young relative was still engaged at the faro-table, having himself declined to hazard any of his winnings at his favourite game. As he was shrugging his shoulders into his drab overcoat, he was joined, rather to his surprise, by Lord Ormskirk, who came sauntering down the stairs, swinging his quizzing glass between his white fingers.

“Ah, my dear Ravenscar!” said his lordship, with a lift of his delicately pencilled brows. “So you too find it a trifle flat! Wantage; my cloak! If you are going in my direction, Ravenscar, I am sure you will bear me company. My cane, Wantage!”

“Yes, I’ll bear you company willingly,” said Mr Ravenscar. “So obliging of you, my dear fellow! Do you find the night air—ah, the morning air, is it not?—invigorating?”

“Immensely,” said Mr Ravenscar.

His lordship smiled, and passed out of the house, drawing on a pair of elegant, lavender gloves. A link-boy ran up with his flaring torch, with offers of a chair or a hackney.

“We’ll walk,” said Ravenscar.

It was past four o’clock and a ghostly grey light was already creeping over the sky. It lit the silent square sufficiently for the two men to see their way. They turned northwards, and began to traverse the square in the direction of York Street. A couple of sleepy chairmen roused themselves to proffer their services; a melancholy voice in the distance, proclaiming the hour, showed that the Watch was abroad; but there seemed to be no other signs of life in the streets.

“I recall a time,” remarked Ormskirk idly, “when it was positively dangerous to walk the town at night. One took one’s life in one’s hands.”

“Mohocks?” asked Mr Ravenscar.

“Such desperate, wild fellows!” sighed his lordship. “There is nothing like it nowadays, though they tell me the footpads are becoming a little tiresome. Have you ever been set upon, Ravenscar?”

“Once.”

“I am sure you gave a good account of yourself,” smiled Ormskirk. “You are such a formidable fellow with your fists. Now, that is a sport in which I have never been able to interest myself. I remember that I was once compelled to be present at a turn-up on some heath, or Down—really, I forget: it was abominably remote, and the mud only remains clearly imprinted on my memory! There was a greasy fellow with a nose, whom everyone seemed to be united in extolling. Yes, none other than the great Mendoza: you cannot conceive the depths of my indifference! He was matched with a fellow called Humphries, who bore, quite inexplicably, the title of Gentleman. I do not recollect the outcome; possibly I may have slept. It was very bloody, and crude, and the scent of the hoi polloi, in spite of all that a most disagreeable east wind could do, was all-pervading. But I am speaking, I believe, to one of Mendoza’s admirers!”

“I’ve taken lessons from him,” replied Mr Ravenscar. “I suppose you did not choose to walk home with me to discuss the Fancy. Let’s have it, my lord: what do you want of me?”

Ormskirk made a deprecating gesture. “But so abrupt, my dear Ravenscar! I am walking with you as a gesture of the purest friendliness!”

Mr Ravenscar laughed. “Your obliged servant, my lord!”

“Not at all,” murmured his lordship. “I was about to suggest to you—in proof of my friendly intentions, be it understood—that the removal of your—ah—impetuous young cousin would be timely. I am sure you understand me.”

“I do,” replied Ravenscar rather grimly.

“Now, don’t, I beg of you, take me amiss!” implored his lordship. “I am reasonably certain that your visit to Lady Bellingham’s hospitable house was made with just that intention. You have all my sympathy; indeed, it would be quite shocking to see a promising young gentleman so lamentably thrown away! For myself, I shall make no attempt to conceal from you, my dear fellow, that I find your cousin a trifle de trop.”

Mr Ravenscar nodded. “What’s the woman to you, Ormskirk?” he asked abruptly.

“Shall we say that I cherish not altogether unfounded hopes?” suggested his lordship blandly.

“Accept my best wishes for your success.”

“Thank you, Ravenscar, thank you! I felt sure that we should see eye to eye on this, if upon no other subject. I should be extremely reluctant, I give you my word, to be obliged to remove from my path so callow an obstacle.”

“I can understand that,” said Mr Ravenscar, a somewhat unpleasant note entering his level voice. “Let me make myself plain, Ormskirk! You might have my cousin whipped with my good will, if that would serve either of our ends, but when you call him out you will have run your course! There are no lengths to which I will not go to bring you to utter ruin. Believe me, for I was never more serious in my life!”

There was a short silence. Both men had come to a standstill, and were facing each other. There was not light enough for Mr Ravenscar to be able to read his lordship’s face, but he thought that that slim figure stiffened under its shrouding cloak. Then Ormskirk broke the silence with a soft laugh. “But, my dear Ravenscar!” he protested. “One would say that you were trying to force a quarrel on to me!”

“If you choose to read it so, my lord-?”

“No, no!” said his lordship gently. “That would not serve either of our ends, my dear fellow. I fear you are a fire-eater. Now, I am quite the mildest of creatures, I do assure you! Let us have done with this—I fear we shall have to call it bickering! We are agreed that we both desire the same end. Are you, I wonder, aware that your impulsive cousin has offered the lady in question matrimony?”

“I am. That is why I came to see the charmer for myself.”

Lord Ormskirk sighed. “You have the mot juste, my dear Ravenscar, as always. Enchanting, is she not? There is—you will have noticed—a freshness, excessively grateful to a jaded palate.”

“She will do very well for the role you design for her,” said Mr Ravenscar, with a curl of his lip.

“Precisely. But these young men have such romantic notions! And marriage, you will allow, is a bait, Ravenscar. One cannot deny that it is a bait!”

“Especially when it carries with it a title and a fortune,” agreed Ravenscar dryly.

“I felt sure we should understand one another tolerably well,” said his lordship. “I am persuaded that the affair can be adjusted to our mutual satisfaction. Had the pretty creature’s affections been engaged it would have been another matter. There would, I suppose, have been nothing left for me to do than to retire from the lists—ah—discomfited! One has one’s pride: it is inconvenient, but one has one’s pride. But this, I fancy, is by no means the case.”

“Good God, there’s no love there!” Ravenscar said scornfully. “There is a deal of ambition, I will grant.”

“And who shall blame her?” said his lordship affably. “I feel for her in this dilemma. What a pity it is that I am not young, and single, and a fool! I was once both young and single, but never, to the best of my recollection, a fool.”

“Adrian is all three,” said Mr Ravenscar, not mincing matters. “I, on the other hand, am single, but neither young nor a fool. For which reason, Ormskirk, I do not propose either to discuss the matter with my cousin, or to attempt to remove him from the lady’s vicinity. The rantings of a youth in the throes of his first love-affair are wholly without the power of interesting me, and although I do not pique myself upon my imagination, it is sufficiently acute to enable me to picture the result of any well-meant interference on my part.

The coup de grace must be delivered by Miss Grantham herself.”

“Admirable!” murmured his lordship. “I am struck by the similitude of our ideas, Ravenscar. You must not suppose that this had not already occurred to me. Now, to be plain with you, I regard your entrance upon our little stage as providential—positively providential! It will, I trust, relieve me of the necessity of resorting to the use of a distasteful weapon. Instinct prompts me to believe that you have formed the intention of offering the divine Deborah money to relinquish her pretensions to the hand of your cousin.”

“Judging from the style of the establishment, her notions of an adequate recompense are not likely to jump with mine,” said Mr Ravenscar.

“But appearances are so often deceptive,” said his lordship sweetly. “The aunt—an admirable woman, of course!—is not, alas, blessed with those qualities which distinguish other ladies in the same profession. Her ideas, which are charmingly lavish, preclude the possibility of the house’s being run at a profit, in the vulgar phrase. In a word, my dear Ravenscar, her ladyship is badly dipped.”

“No doubt you are in a position to know?” said Mr Ravenscar.

“None better,” replied Ormskirk. “I hold a mortgage or the house, you see. And in one of those moments of generosity, with which you are doubtless familiar, I—ah—acquired some of the more pressing of her ladyship’s debts.”

“That,” said Mr Ravenscar, “is not a form of generosity with which I have ever yet been afflicted.”

“I regarded it in the light of an investment,” explained his lordship. “Speculative, of course, but not, I thought, without promise of a rich return.”

“If you hold bills of Lady Bellingham’s, you don’t appear to me to stand in need of any assistance from me,” said Mr Ravenscar bluntly. “Use ’em!”

A note of pain crept into his lordship’s smooth voice. “My dear fellow! I fear we are no longer seeing eye to eye Consider, if you please, for an instant! You will appreciate, am sure, the vast difference that lies between the surrender: from—shall we say gratitude?—and the surrender to—we shall be obliged to say force majeure.”

“In either event you stand in the position of a scoundrel,” retorted Mr Ravenscar. “I prefer the more direct approach.”

“But one is, unhappily for oneself, a gentleman,” Ormskirk pointed out. “It is unfortunate, and occasionally tiresome, but one is bound to remember that one is a gentleman.”

“Let me understand you, Ormskirk!” said Mr Ravenscar. “Your sense of honour being too nice to permit of your holding the girl’s debts over her by way of threat, or bribe, or what you will, it yet appears to you expedient that someone else—myself, for example—should turn the thumbscrew for you?”

Lord Ormskirk walked on several paces beside Mr Ravenscar before replying austerely: “I have frequently deplored a tendency in these days to employ in polite conversation a certain crudity, a violence, which is offensive to persons of my generation. You, Ravenscar, prefer the fists to the sword. With me it is otherwise. Believe me, it is always a mistake to put too much into words.”

“It doesn’t sound well in plain English, does it?” retorted Ravenscar. “Let me set your mind at rest! My cousin will not marry Miss Grantham.”

His lordship sighed. “I feel sure I can rely on you, my dear fellow. There is positively no need for us to pursue the subject further. So you played a hand or two at piquet with the divine Deborah! They tell me your skill at the game is remarkable. But you play at Brooks’s, I fancy. Such a mausoleum! I wonder you will go there. You must do me the honour of dining at my house one evening, and of giving me the opportunity to test your skill. I am considered not inexpert myself, you know.”

They had reached Grosvenor Square by this time, where his lordship’s house was also situated. Outside it, Ormskirk halted, and said pensively: “By the way, my dear Ravenscar, did you know that Filey has acquired the prettiest pair of blood-chestnuts it has ever been my lot to clap eyes on?”

“No,” said Mr Ravenscar indifferently. “I supposed him to have bought a better pair than he set up against my greys six months ago.”

“What admirable sang-froid you have!” remarked his lordship. “I find it delightful, quite delightful! So you actually backed yourself to win without having seen the pair you were to be matched with!”

“I know nothing of Filey’s horses,” Ravenscar responded. “It was quite enough to have driven against him once, however, to know him for a damnably cow-handed driver.”

His lordship laughed gently. “Almost you persuade me to bet on you, my dear Ravenscar! I recall that your father was a notable whip.”

“He was, wasn’t he?” said Mr Ravenscar. “If Filey’s pair are all you say, you will no doubt be offered very good odds.” He raised his hat as he spoke, nodded a brief farewell, and passed on towards his own house, at the other end of the square.

He was finishing his breakfast, several hours later, when Lord Mablethorpe was announced. Coffee, small-ale, the remains of a sirloin, and a ham still stood upon the table, and bore mute witness to the fact that Mr Ravenscar was a good trencherman. Lord Mablethorpe, who was looking a trifle heavy-eyed, grimaced at the array, and said: “How you can, Max-! And you ate supper at one o’clock!”

Mr Ravenscar, who was dressed only in his shirt and breeches, with a barbaric-looking brocade dressing-gown over all, waved a hand towards a chair opposite to him. “Sit down and have some ale, or some coffee, or whatever it is you drink at this hour.” He transferred his attention to his major-domo who was standing beside his chair. “Mrs Ravenscar’s room to be prepared, then, and you had better tell Mrs Dove to make the Blue Room ready for Miss Arabella. I believe she took, fancy to it when she was last here. And take the dustsheets of the chairs in the drawing-room! If there is anything else, you will probably know of it better than I”

“Oh, are Aunt Olivia and Arabella coming to town?” asked Adrian. “That’s famous! I haven’t seen Arabella for months. When do they arrive?”

“Today, according to my latest information. Come and dine.”

“I can’t tonight,” Adrian said, his ready blush betraying him. “But tell Arabella I shall pay her a morning-call immediately!”

Mr Ravenscar gave a grunt, nodded dismissal to his major domo, and poured himself out another tankard of ale. With this in his hand, he lay back in his chair, looking down the table at his cousin’s ingenuous countenance. “Well, if you won’t come to dine tonight, come to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow,” he suggested. “I shall be escorting Arabella and Olivia there. There’s a ridotto, or some such foolery.”

“Oh, thank you! Yes, indeed I should like it of all things That is, if—but I don’t suppose—” He stopped, looking a little, self-conscious. “I am glad I have found you at home,” he said. “I particularly wanted to see you!”

“What is it?” Ravenscar asked.

“As a matter of fact, I came to ask your advice!” replied Adrian, in a rush. “At least, no, not that exactly,—for my mind is quite made up! But the thing is that my mother depends a good deal upon your judgement; and you’ve always been devilish good to me, so I thought I would tell you how things stand.”

There was nothing Mr Ravenscar wanted less than to hear his cousin explain his passion for Miss Grantham, but he said: “By all means! Are you coming to watch my race, by the way?”

This question succeeded in diverting Lord Mablethorpe for the moment, and he replied, with his face lighting up: “Oh, by Jove, I should think I am! But what a complete hand you are, Max! I never heard you make such a bet in your life! I suppose you will win. There is no one like you when it comes to handling the ribbons! Where will it be run?”

“Oh, down at Epsom, I imagine! I left it to Filey to settle the locality.”

“I hate that fellow!” said Lord Mablethorpe, frowning. “I hope you will beat him.”

“Well, I shall do my best. Do you go to Newmarket next month?”

“Yes. No. That is, I am not sure. But I didn’t come to talk of that!”

Mr Ravenscar resigned himself to the inevitable, made himself comfortable in his chair, and said: “What did you come to talk of?”

Lord Mablethorpe picked up a fork, and began to trace patterns with it upon the table. “I hadn’t the intention of telling you about it,” he confessed. “It is not as though you were my guardian, after all! Of course, I know you are one of my trustees, but that is quite a different thing, isn’t it?”

“Oh, quite!” agreed Ravenscar.

“I mean, you are not responsible for anything I may do,” said Adrian, pressing home his point with a little anxiety.

“Not a bit.”

“In any event, I shall come of age in a couple of months. It is really no concern of anyone.”

“None at all,” said Ravenscar, betraying no trace of the uneasiness his relative evidently expected him to feel. “In fact, you may just as well keep your own counsel, and have some ale.”

“No, I don’t want any,” said Adrian, rather impatiently. “As I said, I had no intention of telling you. Only you happened to visit—to visit Lady Bel’s house last night, and—and you met Her.”

“I did not exchange more than half a dozen words with Lady Bellingham, however.”

“Not Lady Bellingham!” said Adrian, irritated by such stupidity. “I mean Miss Grantham!”

“Oh, Miss Grantham! Yes, I played piquet with her, certainly. What of it?”

“What did you think of her, Max?” asked his lordship shyly.

“Really, I don’t remember that I thought about her at all. Why?”

Adrian looked up indignantly. “Good God, you surely must at least have seen how—how very beautiful she is!”

“Why, yes, I suppose she is tolerably handsome!” conceded Ravenscar.

“Tolerably handsome!” ejaculated Adrian, in dumbfounded accents.

“Yes, certainly, for one who is not in the first blush of youth A little too strapping for my taste, and will probably put or flesh in middle age, but I will allow her to be a well-looking woman.”

Adrian laid down the fork, and said, with a considerable heightened colour: “I had better make it plain to you at once Max, that—that I mean to marry her!”

“Marry Miss Grantham?” said Ravenscar, raising his brows. “My dear boy, why?”

This unemotional way of receiving startling tidings was damping in the extreme to a young gentleman who had braced himself to encounter violent opposition, and for a moment Adrian seemed to be at a loss to know what to say. After a slight pause, he said with immense dignity: “I love her.”

“How very odd!” said Ravenscar, apparently puzzled.

“I see nothing odd in it!”

“No, of course not. How should you, indeed? But surely someone nearer your own age-?”

“The difference in our ages doesn’t signify in the least. You talk as though Deb were in her thirties!”

“I beg pardon.”

Adrian eyed him with considerable resentment. “My mind is irrevocably made up, Max. I shall never love another woman I knew as soon as I saw her that she was the only one in the world for me! Of course, I don’t expect you to understand that, because you are the coldest fellow—well, I mean, you have never been in love!”

Ravenscar laughed.

“Well, not in the way I mean,” amended his lordship.

“Evidently not. But what has all this to do with me?”

“Nothing at all!” replied Adrian, with emphasis. “Only that since you have met Deb I thought I would tell you. I do not wish to do anything secretly. I am not in the least ashamed of loving Deb!”

“It would be very odd if you were,” commented Ravenscar. “I apprehend that Miss Grantham has accepted your offer??

“Well, not precisely,” Adrian confessed. “That is, she will marry me, I know, but she is the most delightfully teasing creature-! Oh, I can’t tell you, but when you know her better you will see for yourself!”

Ravenscar set down his tankard. “When you say “not precisely”, what do you mean?”

“Oh, she says I must wait until I come of age before I make up my mind—as though I could ever change it! She did not wish me to say anything about it yet, but someone told my mother that I was entangled—entangled!—by her and so it all came out. And that is “in part” why I have come to you, Max.”

“Oh?”

“My mother will listen to you,” said Adrian confidently. “You see, she has taken an absurd notion into her head that Deb is not good enough for me. Of course, I know that her being in Lady Bel’s house is a most unfortunate circumstance, but she is not in the least the sort of girl you might imagine, Max, upon my word she is not! She don’t even like cards above a little! It is all to help her aunt.”

“Did she tell you so?”

“Oh no, it was Kennet who told me! He has known her since her childhood. Really, Max, she is the dearest, sweetest—oh, there are no words to describe her!”

Mr Ravenscar could have found several, but refrained.

“She is not like any other woman I have ever met,” pursued his lordship. “I wonder that you were not struck by it!”

“Well, I have met rather more women than you have as yet had time to,” said Ravenscar apologetically. “That might account for it.”

“Yes, but I should have thought that even you—however, that’s neither here nor there! What I want you to understand, Max, is that I mean to marry Deb, whatever anyone may choose to say about it!”

“Very well; and now that I understand that, what do you expect me to do about it?”

“Well, Max, I thought I could talk to you so much more easily than to my mother. You know how it is with her. Just because Deb has been in the habit of presiding in a gaminghouse, she will not listen to a word I say! It is monstrously unjust! It is not Deb’s fault that she is obliged to be friendly towards men like Filey and Ormskirk: she cannot help herself! Oh, I can scarcely wait to take her away from it all!”

“I see,” said Ravenscar. “I must own that you have taken me by surprise. No doubt I quite mistook the matter, but I should have said that it was Ormskirk’s suit which the lady favoured, rather than yours.”

Adrian looked troubled. “No, no, you don’t understand! It is that which makes me so anxious—in short, Lady Bel is under an obligation to Ormskirk—a monetary obligation, you know—and Deb dare not offend him. It is an intolerable position for her! If only I had control of my fortune now, I would put an end to it on the instant!”

Mr Ravenscar experienced no difficulty at all in believing this, and could only be thankful that there were still two months to run of his cousin’s minority. “May I ask if the source of your information is again Mr Kennet?” he inquired

“Oh, yes! Deb will not say a word about it! But Kennet, knows all the circumstances.”

“Miss Grantham is happy in the possession of so devoted friend,” remarked Ravenscar ironically.

“Well, yes, I suppose—except that—Well, he is not quite the sort of fellow who—But that will all be changed when we are married!”

“Miss Grantham’s parentage, I need hardly ask, is respectable?” said Ravenscar, in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh, yes! The Granthams are related to Amberley, I believe they are some sort of cousins: I am not precisely informed Deb’s father was a military man, but he sold out.” Lord Mablethorpe looked up with a disarming smile. “Well, the truth is, he was a gamester, I suppose. His birth was respectable but from all I can discover he was not quite the thing. But he is dead, after all, and his sins are not to be visited upon Deb There is also a brother. I have not met him yet, but there is talk of his getting leave: he is stationed somewhere in the south. He is a military man too, and was at Harrow, so you see there is nothing to take exception to there.” He paused, waiting for his cousin to make some comment. Ravenscar, however, said nothing. His lordship drew a breath. “And now that I have explained it to you, Max, I wish—that is, I should be very much obliged to you if you would speak to my mother I...”

“I?” said Ravenscar. “What would you have me say to her?”

“Well, I thought you could make her understand that it is not such a bad match after all!”

“No, I don’t think I could do that,” replied Ravenscar. “I doubt if anyone could.”

“But, Max—”

“I should wait until I had come of age, if I were you.”

“But if Mama could only be brought to consent, I should not have to wait! And there is that fellow, Ormskirk, to be thought of! I want Mama to give her consent, so that Deb need have no scruples. Then the engagement could be announced, and I daresay there would be no trouble about advancing me some of my fortune.”

“Impossible!”

“But, Max, if you and Uncle Julius both agreed to it—”

“What makes you think that we should?”

“But I have explained it all to you!” said his lordship impatiently.

Mr Ravenscar got up, and stretched his long limbs. “Wait until you are of age,” he said. “You may then do as you please.”

“I did not think you would behave so shabbily!” exclaimed Adrian.

Ravenscar smiled. “But surely you know that I am abominably close-fisted?”

“It is not your money,” Adrian muttered. “I suppose the truth is that you are as bad as Mama, and don’t wish me to marry Deb!”

“I won’t conceal from you that I am not enthusiastic over the match. You had better approach your Uncle Julius.”

“You know very well he is as bad as Mama! I made sure you would help me to talk Mama over! I have always depended upon you! I did not think you would fail me in the most important thing in my life!”

Ravenscar walked round the table, and dropped a hand on to Adrian’s shoulder, gripping it for an instant. “Believe me, I don’t mean to fail you,” he said. “But you must wait! Now I am going to exercise those greys of mine. Come with me!”

It spoke volumes for the love-sick state of Adrian’s mind that he shook his head, saying disconsolately: “No, I think I won’t. I have no heart for it now. I must be going. If you knew Deb better you would soon change your mind!”

“Then you must hope for a closer acquaintanceship between us,” said Ravenscar, moving to the fireplace, and jerking the bell-pull beside it.

Adrian rose. “Anyway, I shall marry her!” he said defiantly.

Ravenscar accompanied him out into the hall. “By all means, if you are still of the same mind in two months’ time,” he agreed. “My compliments to my aunt, by the way.”

“I don’t suppose I shall tell her that I have been with you,” replied Adrian, sounding much like a thwarted schoolboy.

“That will teach me a lesson,” said his cousin.

Adrian was never sulky for many minutes at a time. A reluctant grin put his scowl to flight. “Oh, damn you, Max!” he said, and departed.

Mr Ravenscar returned to his breakfast-parlour, and stood for a moment or two, leaning his arm on the mantelpiece, and looking fixedly out of the window. His thoughts were not kindly towards Miss Grantham, and as they dwelled upon her his expression grew a little ugly. Very clever of the wench to set the convenient Mr Kennet to tell her pathetic story to Adrian! So she would not have him announce his betrothal to her until he came of age? Well, that was clever too, but not quite clever enough. Miss Grantham should have the honour of trying a fall with one Max Ravenscar, and maybe she would learn something from that encounter.

“You rang, sir?”

Mr Ravenscar turned his head. “Yes, I rang. Send word to the stables, please, that I want the greys brought round in half an hour.”

Chapter 4

Miss Grantham, sleeping late into the morning, did not leave her room until past eleven o’clock. The servants, in green baize aprons and shirt-sleeves, were still sweeping and dusting the saloons, and Miss Grantham presently found her aunt in her dressing-room, seated before a table on which her toilet accessories were inextricably mixed with bills, letters, pens, ink, and wafers.

Lady Bellingham had been a very pretty woman in her youth, but there was little trace of a former beauty to be detected in her plump countenance today. A once pink-and white complexion had long been raddled by cosmetics; there were pouches under her pale blue eyes; her cheeks had sagged; and it could not have been said that a golden wig became her.

Some traces of hair-powder still clung to this erection, but the monstrous plumes she had worn in it on the previous evening had been removed, and a lace cap set in their place, with lilac ribbons tied under her little chin. A voluminous robe with a quantity of ruffles and ribbons, enveloped her stout form, and she wore, in addition, a trailing Paisley shawl, which was continually slipping off her shoulders, or getting its fringe entangled in the pins and combs which littered the dressing-table.

She looked up, when her niece entered the room, and said in a distracted way: “Oh, my dear, thank heavens you are come! I am in such a taking! I am sure we are ruined...”

Miss Grantham, who was looking very neat in a chintz gown, with her hair dressed plainly, bent over her to kiss her cheek. “Oh no! Don’t say so! I had some deep doings myself last night.”

“Lucius told me you had gone down six hundred pounds,” said Lady Bellingham. “Of course, it can’t be helped, but why would not Mr Ravenscar play faro? People are so tiresome! My love, nothing could be worse than the fix we are in. Just look at this bill from Priddy’s! Twelve dozen of Fine Hock at thirty shillings a dozen, and such nasty stuff as it is! Ditto of Claret, First Growth, at forty-two shillings the dozen—why, it is robbery, no less! Ditto of White Champagne, at seventy shillings—I cannot conceive how the half of it can have been drunk, and here is Mortimer telling me that we shall be needing more.”

Miss Grantham sat down, and picked up the bill from Priddy’s Foreign Warehouse and Vaults. “It does seem shocking,” she agreed. “Do you think we should buy cheaper wine?”

“Impossible!” said Lady Bellingham, with resolution. “You know what everyone says about the inferior stuff that Hobart woman gives her guests to drink! But that is not the worst!

Where is that odious bill for coals? Forty-four shillings the ton we are paying, Deb, and that not the best coal! Then there’s the bill from the coachmakers—here it is! No, that’s not it. Seventy pounds for green peas: it doesn’t seem right does it, my love? I dare say we are being robbed, but what is one to do? What’s this? Candles, fifty pounds, and that’s only for six months! Burning wax ones in the kitchen, if we only knew. Where is that?—oh, I have it in my hand all the time! Now, do listen, Deb! Seven hundred pounds for the bays and a new barouche! Well, I can’t think where the money is to come from. It seems a monstrous price.”

“We might let the bays go, and hire a pair of job horses,” suggested Miss Grantham dubiously.

“I can’t and I won’t live in squalor!” declared her aunt tearfully.

Miss Grantham began to gather up the bills, and to sort them. “I know. It would be horrid, but we should be spared these dreadful bills for repairs. What is K.Q. iron, Aunt Lizzie?”

“I can’t imagine, my love. Do we use that, too?”

“Well, it says here, Best K.Q. iron, faggotted edgeways-oh, it was for an axle-tree!”

“We had to have that,” said Lady Bellingham, comforted. “But when it comes to eighty pounds for liveries which are the most hideous colour imaginable, and not in the least what I wanted, we have reached the outside of enough!”

Miss Grantham looked up with an awed expression in her eyes. “Aunt, do we really pay four hundred pounds for a box at the opera?”

“I daresay. It is all of a piece! I am sure we have not used it above three times the whole season.”

“We must give it up,” said Miss Grantham firmly.

“Now, Deb, do pray be sensible! When poor dear Sir Edward was alive, we always had our box at the opera. Everyone did so!”

“But Sir Edward has been dead these dozen years, aunt,” Miss Grantham pointed out.

Lady Bellingham dabbed at her eyes with a fragile handkerchief. “Alas, I am a defenceless widow, whom everyone delights to impose upon! But I will not give up my box at the opera!”

There did not seem to be anything more to be said about this. Miss Grantham had made another, and still more shocking discovery. “Oh, aunt!” she said, raising distressed eyes from the sheaf of bills. “Ten ells of green Italian taffeta! That was for that dress which I threw, away, because it did not become me!”

“Well, what else is one to do with dresses which don’t become one?” asked her aunt reasonably.

“I might at least have worn it! Instead of that, we bought all that satin—the Rash Tears one, I mean—and had it made up.”

“You never had a dress that became you better, Deb,” said her ladyship reminiscently. “You were wearing that when Mablethorpe first saw you.”

There was a short silence. Miss Grantham looked at her aunt in a troubled way, and shuffled the bills in her hand.

“I suppose,” said Lady Bellingham tentatively, “you could not bring yourself-?”

“No,” said Deborah.

“No,” agreed Lady Bellingham, with a heavy sigh. “Only it would be such a splendid match, and no one would dun me if it were known that you were betrothed to Mablethorpe!”

“He is not yet twenty-one, ma’am.”

“Very true, my dear, but so devoted!”

“I’m his calf-love. He won’t marry a woman out of a gaming-house.”

Lady Bellingham’s mouth drooped pathetically. “I meant it all for the best! Of course, I do see that it puts us in an awkward position, but how in the world was I to manage? And my card-parties were always so well-liked—indeed, I was positively renowned for them!—that it seemed such a sensible thing to do! Only, ever since we bought this house our expenses seem to have mounted so rapidly that I’m sure I don’t know what is to become of us. And here is dearest Kit, too! I forgot to tell you, my love. I have a letter from him somewhere—well, never mind, I must have mislaid it. But the thing is that the dear boy thinks he would be happier in a cavalry regiment, and would like to exchange.”

“Exchange!” exclaimed Kit’s sister, aghast. “Why, I daresay it would cost seven or eight hundred pounds at the least!”

“Very likely,” said Lady Bellingham in a despondent tone. “But there’s no denying he would look very well in Hussar uniform, and I never did like his being in that horrid line regiment. Only where the money is to come from I don’t know!”

“Kit can’t exchange. It would be absurd! You must explain to him that it is impossible.”

“But I promised poor dear Wilfred I would always look after his children!” said Lady Bellingham tragically.

“So you have, dearest Aunt Lizzie,” said Deborah warmly. “We have never been anything but a shocking charge on you!”

“I am sure no one ever had a better nephew and niece. And if you won’t have Mablethorpe, I dare say someone richer will offer for you.”

Miss Grantham looked down at her shapely hands. “Lord Ormskirk is making very precise offers, aunt.”

Lady Bellingham picked up the haresfoot, and began to powder her face in an agitated way. “There you are, then. If only you would have Mablethorpe, there would be an end to Ormskirk’s pretensions! I can’t deny, Deb, that we are very awkwardly situated there. Don’t, for heaven’s sake, quarrel with the man! I daresay he would clap us up in a debtors’ prison in the blink of an eye!”

“How much money do we owe Ormskirk?” asked Deborah, raising her clear gaze to her aunt’s face.

“My love, don’t ask me! I had never the least head for figures! There’s that odious mortgage on the house, for one thing. I have been quite misled! I made sure we should make a great deal of money, if only we could set up in a modish establishment. But what with green peas, and two free suppers every night, not to mention all that champagne and claret, and the faro-bank’s being broke twice in one week, I’m sure it is a wonder we can still open our doors! And now what must you do, my love, but play piquet with Ravenscar; not that I blame you, for I am sure you did the right thing, and if only he may be induced to try his hand at faro it will have been worth the outlay. Did he seem pleased, my dear?”

“I don’t know,” answered Deborah candidly. “He is a strange creature. I had the oddest feeling that he did not like me, but he chose to play with me all the evening.”

Lady Bellingham laid down the haresfoot, and turned a brightening countenance upon her niece. “Do you suppose perhaps he may offer for you, Deb? Oh, if that were to happen-! I declare I should die of very joy! He is the richest man in London. Now, don’t, don’t, I implore you, take one of your dislikes to him! Only think how our troubles would vanish!”

Deborah could not help laughing, but she shook her head as well, and said: “My dear aunt, I am persuaded no such thought has entered Mr Ravenscar’s head! I wish you will not think so much about my marriage. I doubt I was born to wear the willow.”

“Never say so, Deb! Why, you are so handsome you have even turned Ormskirk’s head—not that I should like you to become his mistress, because I am sure it is not the sort of thing your poor father would have wished for you at all, besides putting you in an awkward situation, and quite ruining all your chances of making a good match. Only if it is not to be Ormskirk, it must be marriage.”

“Nonsense! Put all these bills away, ma’am, and forget them. We have had a run of bad luck, it’s true, and have been monstrously extravagant besides, but we shall come about, trust me!”

“Not with Indian muslin at ten shillings the yard, and wheatstraw for bedding a crown the truss, or the bushel, or whatever it is,” said Lady Bellingham gloomily.

“Wheatstraw?” asked Miss Grantham, wrinkling her brow.

“Horses,” explained her aunt, with a heavy sigh.

Miss Grantham seemed to feel the force of this, and once more bent her head over the bills in her hand. After a prolonged study of these, she said in a daunted voice: “Dear ma’am, do we never eat anything but salmon and spring chickens in this house?”

““We had a boiled knuckle of veal and pig’s face last week,” replied Lady Bellingham reflectively. “That was for our dinner, but we could not serve it at the suppers, my love.”

“No,” agreed Miss Grantham reluctantly. “Perhaps we ought not to give two suppers every night.”

“Anything of a shabby nature is repugnant to me!” said her aunt firmly. “Sir Edward would not have approved of it.”

“But, ma’am, I daresay he would not have approved of your keeping a gaming-house at all!” Deborah pointed out.

“Very likely not, my love. I’m sure it is not at all the sort of thing I should choose to do, but if Ned didn’t wish me to do so he should not have died in that inconsiderate way,” said Lady Bellingham.

Miss Grantham abandoned this line of argument, and returned to her study of the bills. Such items as Naples Soap, Patent Silk Stockings, Indian Tooth-brushes, and Chintz Patches, mounted up to a quite alarming total; while a bill from Warren’s, Perfumiers, and another from a mantua maker, enumerating such interesting items as One Morning Sacque of Paris Mud, Two Heads Soupir d’etouffer, and One Satin Cloak trimmed Opera Brulée Gauze, made her feel quite low. But these were small bills compared with the staggering list of household expenses, which it was evident Lady Bellingham had been trying to calculate. Her ladyship’s sprawling handwriting covered several sheets of hot-pressed paper, whereon Servants’ Wages, Liveries, Candles, Butcher, Wine, and Taxes jostled one another in hopeless confusion. The house in St James’s Square seemed to cost a great deal of money to maintain, and if there were nothing to cavil at in the Wages of Four Women Servants, £60, it did seem that two waiters at twenty pounds apiece, an Upper Man at fifty-five, and the coachman at forty were grossly extortionate.

Miss Grantham folded these depressing papers, and put them at the bottom of the sheaf.

“I am sure I am ready enough to live a great deal more frugally,” said Lady Bellingham, “but you may see for yourself, Deb, how impossible it is! It is not as though one was spending money on things which are not necessary.”

“I suppose,” said Deborah, looking unhappily at a bill from the upholsterers, “I suppose we need not have covered all the chairs in the front saloon with straw-coloured satin.”

“No,” conceded Lady Bellingham. “I believe that was a mistake. It does not wear at all well, and I have been thinking whether we should not have them done again, in mulberry damask. What do you think, my love?”

“I think we had better not spend any more money on them until the luck changes,” said Deborah.

“Well, my dear, that will be an economy at all events,” said her ladyship hopefully. “But have you thought that if the luck don’t change-?”

“It must, and shall!” said Deborah resolutely.

“I am sure I hope it may, but I do not see how we can recover, with peas at such a price, and you playing piquet with Ravenscar for ten shillings a point.”

Miss Grantham hung her head. “Indeed, I am very sorry,” she apologized. “He did say he would come again, to let me have my revenge, but perhaps I had better make an excuse?”

“No, no, that would never do! We must hope that he will presently turn to faro, and make the best of it. Mablethorpe has sent you a basketful of roses this morning, my love.”

“I know,” replied Deborah. “Ormskirk sent a bouquet of carnations in a jewelled holder. I have quite a drawerful of his gifts to me. I would like to throw them in his painted face!”

“And so you could, if only you would take poor young Mablethorpe,” her aunt pointed out. “I am sure he has the sweetest of tempers, and would make anyone a most amiable husband. As for his not being of age yet, that will soon be a thing of the past, and if you are thinking about his mother—not that there is the least need, for though she can be very disagreeable, she is not a bad-hearted creature, Selina Mablethorpe—”

“No, I was not thinking of her,” said Deborah. “And I will not think of Adrian either, if you please, aunt! I may be one of faro’s daughters, but I’ll not entrap any unfortunate young man into marrying me, even if my refusal means a debtors’ prison!”

“You don’t feel that Ormskirk would be better than a debtors’ prison?” suggested Lady Bellingham, in a desponding voice.

Deborah broke into laughter. “Aunt Lizzie, you are a most shocking creature! How can you talk so?”

“Well, but, my dear, you will be just as surely ruined for ever in prison as under Ormskirk’s protection, and far less agreeably,” said her ladyship, with strong common sense. “Not that I wish for such a connexion, for I don’t, but what else is to be done?”

“Oh, I have the oddest notion that something will happen to set all to rights, ma’am! Indeed I have!”

“Yes, love,” said Lady Bellingham, without much hope. “We both of us had that notion when we laid five hundred guineas on Jack-Come-Tickle-Me at the Newmarket races, but it turned out otherwise.”

“Well,” said Miss Grantham, thrusting all the bills into one of the drawers of a small writing-table by the window, “I have a very good mind to back Mr Ravenscar to win his curricle race against Sir James Filey. He was offering odds at five to one on himself.”

“What is all this?” demanded Lady Bellingham. “Lucius did say something about an absurd bet, but I was not attending.”

“Oh, Sir James was being as odious as ever, and it seems he was beaten in a race against Ravenscar six months ago, and is as wild as fire to come about again. The long and the short of it is that Ravenscar offered to run against him when and where he chose for a stake of five thousand pounds. And as though that were not enough, he laid odds at five to one against Sir James! He must be very sure of himself.”

“But that is twenty-five thousand pounds!” exclaimed Lad Bellingham, who had been doing some rapid multiplication

“If he loses!”

“I never heard of anything so provoking!” declared he ladyship. “If he has twenty-five thousand pounds to lose, pray why could he not do so at my faro-bank? But so it is always Men have never the least spark of consideration for anything but their own pleasure. Well, I recall that his father was a very disagreeable, selfish kind of a man, and I dare say the son is no better.”

Miss Grantham returned no answer to this. Her aunt, was satisfied with her appearance, picked up a pot of Serkis rouge and began to apply this aid to beauty with a ruthless hand. “It is the oddest thing,” she remarked, “but all the richest men at the most odious creatures imaginable! Only think of Filey, and now Ravenscar!”

“Good God, ma’am, you cannot mean to couple Mr Ravenscar with that vile man.” cried Miss Grantham, flushing a little.

Lady Bellingham set the rouge-pot down. “Deb, never say you have taken a fancy to Ravenscar?” she exclaimed. “I would be the most wonderful thing if he could be got to offer for you, but I have been thinking it over, my dear, and believe it won’t answer. He is turned thirty-five, and has new asked any female to marry him that I ever heard of. Besides, he is said to be abominably close, and that would not do for us all.”

“Offer for me indeed! Of course he won’t, or I accept him believe me, aunt! And as for fancies—pooh, what nonsense I liked him for taking Sir James up so swiftly, and for something about him that was different from all those other met but he was quite rude to me, you know. I am very sure he despises me for presiding at gaming-tables. I cannot conceive what should have brought him to the house, unless it was to see what kind of a harpy his cousin had fallen in love with.”

“Oh dear!” sighed Lady Bellingham. “I daresay that would be it! We shall have him whisking poor Adrian off, and then, shall have no one but Ormskirk to fall back upon.”

Miss Grantham laughed. “He may whisk him off with my good-will, I assure you, ma’am, but he seemed to me much lit a sensible man, and will no doubt have seen that the foolish boy will come to no harm in this house. Why, I will not even permit him to put down a rouleau of above ten guineas at a time!”

“No,” said her ladyship regretfully. “And he is not at all a lucky punter. It does seem a pity, my love.”

“Now, you know very well, ma’am, you don’t wish to be plucking schoolboys!” Deborah said, laying an arm about her aunt’s shoulders.

Lady Bellingham agreed to this, but without much conviction. A small black page scratched on the door for admittance, and announced that Massa Kennet was below-stairs. Deborah kissed her aunt, recommended her not to worry her head over the bills, and went off to join this friend of her childhood in the small back-room behind the dining-room.

If to live by one’s wits and a dice-box was to be a soldier-of-fortune, Mr Ravenscar had summed Mr Lucius Kennet up correctly. Although considerably his junior, he had been one of the late Captain Wilfred Grantham’s closest friends, wandering about Europe with him, and generally sharing his fluctuating fortunes. Like Silas Wantage, at present engaged in cleaning silver in the pantry, while Mortimer, Lady Bellingham’s expensive butler, slept with the current number of the Morning Advertiser spread over his face, Lucius Kennet had always formed a part of Miss Grantham’s background. He had never been above mending a broken doll, or tying up a cut finger; and when Deborah reached adolescence he had constituted himself an easy-going protector. Captain Grantham had not been one to put himself out for a parcel of plaguey brats, the greatest effort he had ever made on his son’s and daughter’s behalf having been to place them in his sister’s care upon the death of his long-suffering wife.

Lady Bellingham, childless, and devoted to a brother who recalled her existence only when he found himself in straits from which it was in her power to rescue him, was delighted with the charge, and could not imagine that a boy of twelve and a girl of fifteen could be the least trouble in the world. She had been a widow for some few years, living a somewhat hand-to-mouth existence, and she had very soon discovered that a boy of school age, and a girl requiring a governess, were expensive luxuries. She had a small fortune of her own, besides a much smaller jointure, and generally relied upon her luck at all games of chance to bridge the gap between her income and her expenditure. She gave charming little parties at her house in Clarges Street, and was so successful at the faro-table, that the idea of turning her propensity for cards to good account gradually took root in her mind. Mr Lucius Kennel appearing suddenly in London with the news of Captain Grantham’s death in Munich, was happy to lend her ladyship the benefit of his experience and advice, and even to deal for her, at her first faro-bank. It had really answered amazingly well, and had even provided funds for the purchase of a pair of colours for Mr Christopher Grantham, upon that young gentleman’s leaving school.

At the outset, it had been no part of Lady Bellingham’s place to admit her niece into her gaming-saloon. She could never be quite certain how it had happened that within a month of being emancipated from the schoolroom Deborah had mad her appearance at one of those cosy evening-parties, but it ha, happened, and the girl had been such an instant success wit her aunt’s male guests, and had brought such a rush of new visitors to the house, that it would clearly have been folly to have excluded her.

The card-parties in Clarges Street had been held during peak period of gaming. Gentlemen had thought nothing of staking rouleaus of fifty guineas on the turn of a card, and the profits of the modest little house had really quite justified the acquiring of a much larger establishment in St James’s Square But whether it was because there had been a great deal of absurd stuff written in the daily papers about the wickedness of such gaming-houses as Mrs Sturt’s, and Lady Buckingham’s, which might have caused the attendances to fall off trifle; or whether because the expenses of the house in St James’s Square were much heavier than Lady Bellingham had anticipated, there had not been any profits to enjoy for several months. Of course, quite large sums of money found their way into Lady Bellingham’s pockets, but somehow or other these were always swallowed up by the tide of bill which so inexplicably threatened to engulf the house. For the past few weeks, too, the establishment had been suffering from a run of most persistent ill-luck. The faro-bank ha been broken for six thousand pounds on one disastrous evening, and a misfortune such as that was hard to recover from Lady Bellingham had done her best by introducing the game of E.O. into her rooms, but even this had not gone very far to set matters to rights, since serious gamesters were inclined to despise it, and it certainly could not be said to improve tone of the house. In fact, as Deborah said bitterly, it reduced it to the ranks of quite common gaming-hells.

It had been one of Lucius Kennet’s ideas, well-meant, of course, but very displeasing to Miss Grantham. He had lately been talking of the new game of roulette, which seemed to be played on much the same principles as E.O., but Miss Grantham was determined that no roulette board should make its appearance in St James’s Square.

Mr Kennet, when Miss Grantham joined him, was idly engaged in casting the dice, right hand against left, on a small table in the centre of the room. “Good morning, me darlin’,” he said cheerfully, not desisting from his occupation. “Will you look at the fiend’s own luck of my left hand, now? Upon my soul, it can’t lose!” He cast a shrewd glance at Miss Grantham’s rather pensive expression, and added: “What’s the trouble, me dear? Is it Ormskirk again, or will it be the suckling;”

“It isn’t either,” replied Deborah, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. “At least, no more than I’m used to. Lucius, what is to become of us?”

“Why, what should become of you at all?”

“My aunt is quite distracted. There are nothing but bills!”

“Ah, throw them in the fire, me dear.”

“You know well that won’t answer! I wish you will stop casting the bones!”

He gathered them up into the palm of one hand, tossing them into the air, and catching them as they fell. There was a smile in his eyes as he answered: “Your heart’s not in this, is it?”

“Sometimes I think I hate it,” she admitted, sinking her chin into her cupped hands, and glowering. “Oh, the devil, Lucius I’m no gamester!”

“You chose it, me darlin’. I’d say ’twas in your blood.”

“Well, and so I thought, but it’s tedious beyond anything I ever dreamed of! I think I will have a cottage in the country one day, and keep hens.”

He burst out laughing. “God save the hens! And you supping off lobsters every night, and wearing silks, and fallals, and letting the guineas drip through the pretty fingers of you!”

Her eyes twinkled; the corners of her humorous mouth quivered responsively. “That’s the devil of it,” she confessed. “What’s to be done?”

“There’s the suckling,” he drawled. “I doubt he’d be glad to give you your cottage, if it’s that you want, so you might play at keeping farm, like the sainted French Queen, God rest he soul!”

“You know me better!” she said, with a flash. “Do you think I would serve a romantic boy such a turn as that? A rare thing for him to find himself tied to a gamester five years the elder!”

“You know, Deb,” he said, watching the rise and fall of hi dice through half-shut eyes, “there are times I’ve a mind to run off with you meself.”

She smiled, but shook her head. “When you’re foxed, may be.”

His hand shut on the dice; he turned his head to look at her. “Be easy; I’m sober enough. What do you say, me darlin’? Will you throw in your lot with a worthless fellow that will never come to any good in this world, let alone the next?

“Are you offering for me, Lucius?” she demanded, blinking at him.

“Sure I’m offering for you! It’s mad I am entirely, but what of that? Come adventuring with me, me love! I’ll swear you’ve the spirit for it!”

She gave him one of her clear looks. “If I loved you, Lucius; I don’t, you see. Not as your wife, but only as your good friend.”

“Ah well!” he said, tossing up the dice again. “I doubt it’s for the best!”

“Indeed, I don’t think you would make a very good husband,” she said reflectively. “You would be wishing me at the devil before a year was out.”

“I might,” he agreed.

“Besides,” she said practically, “how should marriage wit you help Aunt Lizzie out of her difficulties?”

“Ah, to hell with the old woman! You’re too young to be worrying your head over her troubles, me dear, believe you me!”

“It’s when you talk like that I like you least, Lucius,” she said.

He shrugged. “Have it as you will. What’s it to be? Will you have a roulette table or the noble Earl of Ormskirk?”

“I will have neither!”

“Tell that to your aunt, Deb, and see how she takes it.”

“What do you mean?” she asked fiercely.

“God bless us all, girl, if she were not playing his lordship game for him, what possessed the silly creature to borrow money from him?”

“You are thinking of the mortgage on this house! She had no notion—”

“That, and the bills his lordship bought up, all out of the goodness of his heart, you’ll be asking me to believe.” Her cheeks whitened. “Lucius, he has not done that?”

“Ask the old lady.”

“Oh, poor Aunt Lizzie!” she exclaimed. “No wonder she is so put-about! Of course she would never have the least notion that that horrid man would use them to force me to become his mistress! And I won’t! I’ll go to prison rather!”

“Prison is a mighty uncomfortable place, me dear.”

“He’d not do that!” she said confidently. “This is all conjecture! He has used no threats to me. Indeed, I am very sure he is too proud. But, oh, I would give anything to get those bills out of his hands!”

He threw her an ironical glance. “I’m thinking you’d best ask your rich new friend to buy ’em back for you, me darlin’. It’s delighted I’d be to help you, but my pockets are to let, as well you know.”

“I wish you will not be absurd!” she said crossly. “It’s ten to one I shall never set eyes on Ravenscar again, and if I did—oh, don’t be a fool, Lucius, for I’m in no funning humour!”

The door opened to admit Mortimer. “Mr Ravenscar has called, miss, and desires to see you. I have shown him into the Yellow Saloon.”

“Faith, it’s heaven’s answer, Deb!” said Mr Kennet, chuckling.

“Mr Ravenscar?” repeated Miss Grantham incredulously. “You must have mistaken!”

The butler silently held out the salver he was carrying. Miss Grantham picked up the visiting-card on it, and read in astonishment its simple legend. Mr Max Ravenscar ran the flowing script, in coldly engraved letters.

Chapter 5

Mr Ravenscar was standing by the window in the Yellow Saloon, looking out. He was dressed in topboot; and leather breeches, with a spotted cravat round his throat and a drab-coloured driving-coat with several shoulder-cape reached to his calves. He turned, as Miss Grantham entered, the room, and she saw that some spare whip-lashes were thru; through one of his buttonholes, and that he was carrying a pair of driving-gloves of York tan.

“Good morning,” he said, coming a few paces to meet her, “Do you care to drive round the Park, Miss Grantham?”

“Drive round the Park?” she repeated, in a surprised tone.

“Yes, why not? I am exercising my greys, and came here to beg the honour of your company.”

She was conscious of a strong inclination to go with hint but said foolishly: “But I am not dressed to go out!”

“I imagine that might be mended.”

“True, but—” She broke off, and raised her eyes to his face, “Why do you ask me?” she asked bluntly.

“Why, from what I saw here last night, ma’am, it would appear to be impossible to be private with you under the roof.”

“Do you wish to be private with me, Mr Ravenscar?”

“Very much.”

She was aware of a most odd sensation, as though a obstruction had leapt suddenly into her throat on purpose to choke her. Her knees felt unaccountably weak, and she knew that she was blushing. “But you barely know me!” she manage to say.

“That is another circumstance that can be mended. Come Miss Grantham, give me the pleasure of your company, I beg of you!”

She said with a little difficulty: “You are very good. Indeed I should like to! But I must change my dress, and you will not care to keep your horses standing.”

“You will observe, if you glance out of this window, that my groom is walking them up and down.”

“You leave me nothing to say, sir. Grant me ten minute grace, and I will gladly drive out with you.”

He nodded, and moved to open the door for her. She glanced up at him under her lashes as she passed him and was once more baffled by his expression. He was the strangest creature! Too many men had been attracted to her for her to fail to recognize the particular warm look in a man’s eyes when they fell upon the woman of his fancy. It was not in Mr Ravenscar’s eyes; but if he had not fallen a victim to her charms what in the world possessed him to invite her to drive out with him?

It did not take her long to change her chintz gown for a walking dress. A green bonnet with an upstanding poke, and several softly curling ostrich plumes, admirably framed her face, and set off the glory of her chestnut locks. She was conscious of looking her best, and hoped that Mr Ravenscar would think that she did him credit.

Lady Bellingham, informed of the proposed expedition, wavered between elation and a doubt that her niece ought not to drive out alone with a gentleman she had met but once before in her life; but the obvious advantages of Deborah’s fixing Mr Ravenscar’s interest soon outweighed all other considerations. Lucius Kennet chose to be amused, and to quiz Miss Grantham unmercifully on having made such an important conquest, but she answered him quite crossly, telling him it was no such thing, and that she thought such jests extremely vulgar.

It was consequently with a slightly heightened colour that she presently rejoined Ravenscar in the Yellow Saloon. Glancing critically at her, he was obliged to admit that she was a magnificent creature. He accompanied her downstairs to the front door, where they were met by Kennet, who came lounging across the hall to see them off.

Ravenscar and he exchanged a few civilities, and the groom led the greys up to the door. Mr Kennet inspected them with a knowledgeable eye, while Ravenscar gave Miss Grantham his hand to assist her to mount into the curricle, and said that he should back them to beat Filey’s pair.

They were, indeed, beautiful animals, standing a little over fifteen hands, with small heads, broad chests and thighs, powerful quarters, and good, arched necks.

“Ah, I’ll wager they are sweet goers!” Mr Kennet said, passing a hand over one satin neck.

“Yes,” Ravenscar acknowledged. “They are beautiful steppers.”

He got up into the curricle, while the groom still stood to the greys’ heads, and spread a rug over Miss Grantham’s knees. Taking his whip in his hand, and lightly feeling his horses’ mouths, he nodded to the groom. “I shan’t need you,” he said briefly. “Servant, Mr Kennet.”

Both the groom and Kennet stepped back, and the greys, which were restive, plunged forward on the kidney-stones that paved the square.

“Don’t be alarmed!” Ravenscar told Miss Grantham. “They are only a little fresh.”

“I wonder you can hold them so easily!” she confessed, repressing an instinctive desire to clutch the side of the curricle.

He smiled, but returned no answer. They swept round the corner into King Street, turned westwards, and bowled along in the direction of St James’s Street.

There was sufficient traffic abroad to keep Mr Ravenscar’s attention fixed on his task, for the greys, though perfectly well-mannered, chose to take high-bred exception to a wagon which was rumbling along at the side of the road, to shy playfully at a sedan, to regard with sudden misgiving a lady’s feathered hat, and to decide that the lines of white posts, linked with chains, that separated the footpaths from the kennels and the road, menaced them with a hitherto unsuspected danger. But the gates leading into Hyde Park were reached without mishap, and once within them the greys settled into a fine, forward action, satisfied, apparently, to find themselves in surroundings more suited to their birth and lineage.

There were several other equipages in the Park, including some phaetons, and a number of barouches. Mr Ravenscar touched his hat every now and then to acquaintances, but presently, drawing away from the other vehicles, he was able to turn his attention to his companion.

“Are you comfortable, Miss Grantham?”

“Very. Your carriage is beautifully sprung. Do you drive it in your race?”

“Oh, no! I have an especially built racing-curricle for that.

“Shall you win?” she asked, looking up at him with a slight smile.

“I hope so. Do you mean to hazard your money on my greys?”

“Oh, I must certainly do so! But I have never the least luck, I must tell you, and shall very likely bring you bad fortune.”

“I am not afraid of that. Your luck was out last night, but I hope you may come about again.”

“That is very pretty of you, Mr Ravenscar, but I fear it was my skill rather than my luck which was at fault,” she owned.

“Perhaps.” He looped his rein dexterously as the greys overtook a gig, and let it run free again as they shot past. “It is to be hoped that your ill-luck is not consistent. It would surely be disastrous to the success of your delightful establishment if this were so.”

“It would indeed,” she agreed somewhat ruefully. “The world is too apt to imagine, however, that a gaming-house must be a source of enormous wealth to its proprietors.”

“I collect that this is not so, Miss Grantham?”

“By no means.”

He turned to look down at her, saying with the abruptness which she found disconcerting: “Are you in debt, Miss Grantham?”

She was quite taken aback, and did not answer for a moment. She said then, in a stiffened voice: “What prompts you to ask me such a question, sir?”

“That is no answer,” he pointed out.

“I know of no reason why I should give you one.”

“I should have set your scruples at rest at the outset by informing you that I am not entirely ignorant of your circumstances,” he said.

She regarded him in astonishment. “I cannot conceive how you should know anything about my circumstances, sir!”

“You—or should I say your amiable aunt?—are in debt to Lord Ormskirk.”

“I suppose he told you so,” she said in a mortified tone. “On the contrary, my young cousin told me.”

“Adrian told you?” she exclaimed. “You must be mistaken. Adrian knows nothing of Lord Ormskirk’s dealings with my aunt!”

He reined in his horses to a walk. He thought her a remarkably good actress, but her artlessness irritated him, and it was with a sardonic inflexion that he said: “It is you who are mistaken, Miss Grantham. Mablethorpe seemed to me to be singularly well-informed.”

“Who told him?” she demanded.

He raised his brows. “You would have preferred him to remain in ignorance of your indebtedness to Lord Ormskirk? Well, I can appreciate that.”

“I should prefer everyone to remain in ignorance of it!” she said hotly. “Am I to understand that Ormskirk took your cousin into his confidence? I must tell you that I find it incredible!”

“No, I apprehend that your friend, Mr Kennet, was the source of my cousin’s information.”

She bit her lip, and was silent for a few moments, a good deal discomfited. When she spoke again, it was with studied lightness. “Well! And if this is so I do not immediately perceive why you should interest yourself in the matter, Mr Ravenscar.”

“I might help you out of your difficulties.”

She suffered from a momentary dread that he was about to make her a dishonourable proposal, and gripped her hands together in her lap. It would not be the first time she had been the recipient of such proposals; she was aware that her position in her aunt’s house laid her open to such attacks, and had never permitted herself to receive them in the tragic manner, rather turning them off with a laugh and a jest, but she found herself desperately hoping that Mr Ravenscar was not going to prove himself to be just like other men. Then she recalled the hard light in his eyes, and felt so sure that whatever his motive might be it was not amorous that she dared to ask: “Why?”

“What would you wish me to reply?” he inquired. “I will endeavour to oblige you, but the truth is that I am no fencer.”

She was by now quite bewildered, and said in as blunt a manner as his own: “I don’t understand you! We met for the first time last night, and I did not suppose that—in short, I fancied that you were much inclined to dislike me, sir! Yet today you tell me that you might help me out of what you call my difficulties!”

“Under certain circumstances, Miss Grantham.”

“Indeed! And what circumstances are these?”

“You must be as well aware of them as I am myself,” he said. “I am perfectly willing to be more explicit, however. I am prepared to recompense you handsomely, ma’am, for whatever disappointment you may suffer from the relinquishment of all pretensions to my cousin’s hand and heart.”

She had been so much in the habit of regarding Lord Mablethorpe’s infatuation for her as an absurdity that this forthright speech fell upon her ears with stunning effect. She was quite unable to speak for several moments. A tumult of emotion swelled her bosom, and her brain seethed with a jumble of thoughts. The deepest chagrin battled with a furious desire to slap Mr Ravenscar’s face, to assure him, without mincing her words, that she would rather die a spinster than marry his cousin, and, after telling him her opinion of his manners, morals, and abysmal stupidity, to demand to be set down instantly. A strong inclination to burst into tears accompanied these more violent ambitions, and was followed almost immediately by a resolve to punish Mr Ravenscar in the most vindictive way open to her, and a perfectly irrational determination to show him that she was every bit as bad as he imagined her to be, if not worse. To relinquish her pretensions, as he had the insolence to call them, to Lord Mablethorpe’s hand and heart for the mere asking, was no way of punishing him. She perceived that she must forgo the pleasure of slapping his face. Overcoming the constriction in her throat, she said, with very tolerable command over her voice: “Pray, what do you think a handsome recompense, Mr Ravenscar?”

“Shall we say five thousand pounds, ma’am?”

She gave a tinkle of rather metallic laughter. “Really, sir, I am afraid you are trying to trifle with me!”

“You rate your claims high,” he said grimly. “Certainly: Your cousin is quite devoted to me.”

“My cousin, Miss Grantham, is a minor.”

“Oh, but not for long!” she said. “I am not impatient: I can afford to wait for two months, I assure you.”

“Very well,” he said. “I do not choose to haggle with you, ma’am. I will give you exactly double that sum for my cousin’s release.”

She leaned back in the curricle, very much at her ease, schooling her lips to smile. Mr Ravenscar observed the smile, but failed to notice the dangerous glitter in the lady’s eyes. “Paltry, Mr Ravenscar,” she said gently.

“Come, Miss Grantham, that won’t serve! You will get not a penny more out of me, so let us waste no time in haggling!”

“But only consider, sir!” said Miss Grantham, smoothing her lemon kid gloves over her wrists. “You would remove from my grasp at one stroke a fortune and a title!”

“Rest assured, ma’am, that there is not the slightest possibility of your enjoying the possession of that particular fortune or title!” said Ravenscar unpleasantly.

“My dear sir, you underrate my intelligence, believe me!” said Miss Grantham, softly chiding. “You would not have offered me money had it been possible to detach Adrian from me by any other means. You are quite in my power, you know.”

“If you refuse my terms, you will discover your mistake!” said Ravenscar, anger hardening his voice.

“Nonsense!” said Miss Grantham coolly. “Do, I beg of you, be reasonable, sir! You cannot, I am persuaded, think me so big a fool as to let such an advantageous marriage slip through my fingers for the sake of a mere ten thousand pounds!”

“How old are you?” he demanded.

“I am twenty-five, Mr Ravenscar.”

“You would do well to accept my offer. Nothing but unhappiness could be the sequel to your marriage with a boy barely out of his tutor’s hands. Think this over carefully, Miss Grantham! Adrian’s calf-love will not endure, I assure you.”

“It is very possible,” she acknowledged. “But I do not anticipate that it will wane within the next two months. I shall be at such pains, you see, to keep it alive.”

She had the satisfaction of knowing that she had succeeded in putting him in a rage. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth; she thought the expression in his eyes quite murderous, and wondered indeed if her body would be found in some secluded corner of the Park one day.

“Let me make it plain to you, Miss Grantham, since you will have it, that there is nothing I will not do to prevent my cousin’s marrying a woman of your order!”

She gave a gasp, but rallied enough to retort: “Very fine talking, Mr Ravenscar! In fact, there is nothing you can do.”

“You will see, ma’am!”

She yawned. “I protest, you are unreasonable, sir! Pray, what is to become of me if I whistle your cousin down the wind? I have made up my mind to it that it is time I became eligibly settled in the world.”

“As to eligibility, ma’am,” said Ravenscar, through his teeth, “I apprehend that Ormskirk has plans for your future which should answer the purpose admirably!”

The palm of Miss Grantham’s hand itched again to hit him, and it was with an immense effort of will that she forced herself to refrain. She replied with scarcely a tremor to betray her indignation, “But even you must realize, sir, that Lord Ormskirk’s obliging offer is not to be thought of beside your cousin’s proposal. I declare, I have a great fancy to become Lady Mablethorpe.”

“I don’t doubt it!” he said harshly. “By God, if I had my way, women of your stamp should be whipped at the cart’s tail!”

“Why, how fierce you are!” she marvelled. “And all because I have a desire to turn respectable! I dare say I shall make Adrian a famous wife.”

“A wife out of a gaming-house!” he ejaculated. “One of faro’s daughters! You forget, ma’am, that I have been privileged to observe you in your proper milieu! Do you imagine that I will permit the young fool to ruin himself by marriage with you? You’ll learn to know me better!”

She shrugged. “This is mere ranting, Mr Ravenscar. It would be well if you learned to know me better.”

“God forbid!” he said with a snap. “I have learnt enough this morning to assure me that no greater disaster could befall my cousin than to find himself tied to you!”

“And is ten thousand pounds all you are prepared to offer to save your cousin from this horrid fate?” she inquired.

He looked at her in a measuring way, as though he were appraising her worth. “It would be interesting to know what figure you set upon yourself, Miss Grantham.”

She appeared to give this matter her consideration. “I do not know. You regard the affair in so serious a light that I feel I should be very green to accept less than twenty thousand.”

He turned his horses, and they broke into a trot again. “Why stop at that?” he asked, with a short bark of laughter.

“Indeed, I dare say I shan’t,” said Miss Grantham cordially. “My price will rise as Adrian’s birthday approaches.”

He drove on in silence for some little way, frowning heavily at the road ahead.

“How pretty the trees are, with their leaves just on the turn!” remarked Miss Grantham, in soulful accents.

He paid no heed to this sally, but once more looked down at her. “If I engage to pay you twenty thousand pounds, will you release my cousin?” he asked abruptly.

Miss Grantham tilted her head on one side. “I own, twenty thousand pounds is a temptation,” she said. “And yet ...!” she added undecidedly. “No, I think I would prefer to marry Adrian.”

“You will regret that decision, ma’am,” he said, dropping his hands, and letting the greys shoot.

“Oh, I trust not, sir! After all, Adrian is a most amiable young man, and I shall enjoy being his wife, and having a great deal of pin-money. I hope,” she added graciously, “that you will be one of our first guests at Mablethorpe. You will see then what a fine ladyship I mean to be.”

He vouchsafed no answer to this, so after a thoughtful pause she said airily: “Of course, there will be a good many changes to be made at Mablethorpe before I shall be ready to receive visitors. I collect that everything is shockingly old fashioned there. The London house too! But I have a great turn for furnishing houses, and I do not despair of achieving something very tolerable.”

The contemptuous curl of Mr Ravenscar’s mouth was all the sign he gave of having heard this speech.

“I mean to set up a faro-bank of my own,” pursued Miss Grantham. “It will be very select, of course: admission only by card. To make a success of that sort of thing, one must have a certain position in the world, and that Adrian can give me. I will wager that my card-parties become the rage within a twelvemonth!”

“If you think, ma’am, to force up the price by these disclosures, you are wasting your time!” said Ravenscar. “Your plans for the future come as no surprise to me.” He reined in his horses to a more sober pace, as the gates of the Park came into sight. “You have had the chance to enrich yourself, and you have seen fit to refuse it. My offer is no longer open to your acceptance.”

She was surprised, but took care not to let it appear. “Why, now you talk like a sensible man, sir!” she said. “You accept the inevitable, in fact.”

They passed through the gates, and turned eastwards, bowling along with a disregard for the convenience of all other traffic which drew curses from two porters, a hackney-coachman, and a portly old gentleman who was unwise enough to try to cross the street ahead of the curricle. “No,” said Ravenscar. “Once more you are out in your reckoning, Miss Grantham. You have chosen to cross swords with me, and you shall see how you like it. Let me tell you that it was with the greatest reluctance that I made my offer! It goes much against the grain with me to enrich harpies!” He glanced down at her as he spoke, and encountered such a blaze of anger in her eyes that he was momentarily taken aback. But even as his brows snapped together in quick suspicion, the long-lashed lids had veiled her eyes, and she was laughing.

The rest of the drive back to St James’s Square was accomplished in silence. When the curricle drew up outside her door, Miss Grantham put back the rug that covered her knees, and said with deceptive affability: “A most enjoyable drive, Mr Ravenscar. I must thank you for having given me the opportunity to make your better acquaintance. I fancy we have both of us learnt something this morning.”

“Can you get down without my assistance?” he asked brusquely. “I am unable to leave the horses.”

“Certainly,” she replied, nimbly descending from the high carriage. “Goodbye, sir—or should I say au revoir?”

He slightly raised his hat. “Au revoir, ma’am!” he said, and drove on.

The door of the house was opened to Miss Grantham by Silas Wantage, who took one look at her flushed countenance, and said indulgently: “Now, what’s happened to put you into one of your tantrums, Miss Deb?”

“I am not in a tantrum!” replied Deborah furiously. “And if Lord Mablethorpe should call, I will see him!”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” said Wantage. “For he’s been here once already, and means to come again. I never saw anything like it, not in all my puff!”

“I wish you will not talk in that odiously vulgar way!” said Deborah.

“Not in a tantrum: oh, no!” said Mr Wantage, shaking his head. “And me that’s known you from your cradle! Your aunt says as how Master Kit’s a coming home on leave. What do you say to that?”

Miss Grantham, however, had nothing to say to it. She was an extremely fond sister, but for the moment the iniquities of Mr Ravenscar possessed her mind to the exclusion of all other interests. She ran upstairs to the little back-parlour on the half-landing, which was used as a morning-room. Lady Bellingham was writing letters there, at a spindle-legged table in the window. She looked up as her niece entered the room, and cried: “Well, my love, so you are back already! Tell me at once, did—” She broke off, as her eyes met Miss Grantham’s stormy ones. “Oh dear!” she said, in a dismayed voice. “What has happened?”

Miss Grantham untied her bonnet-strings with a savage jerk, and cast the bonnet on to a chair. “He is the vilest, rudest, stupidest, horridest man alive! Oh, but I will serve him out for this! I will make him sorry he ever dared—I’ll have no mercy on him! He shall grovel to me! Oh, I am in such a rage.”

“Yes, my love, I can see you are,” said her aunt faintly. “Did he—did he make love to you?”

“Love!” exclaimed Miss Grantham. “No, indeed! My thoughts did not lie in that direction! I am a harpy, if you please, Aunt Lizzie! Women like me should be whipped at the cart’s tail!”

“Good heavens, Deb, is the man out of his senses?” demanded Lady Bellingham.

“By no means! He is merely stupid, and rude, and altogether abominable! I hate him! I wish I might never set eyes on him again!”

“But what did he do?” asked Lady Bellingham bewildered.

Miss Grantham ground her white teeth. “He came to rescue his precious cousin from my toils! That was why he invited me to drive out with him. To insult me!”

“Oh dear, you thought it might be that!” said her aunt sadly.

Miss Grantham paid no heed to this interruption. “A Grantham is not a fit bride for Lord Mablethorpe! To marry me would be to ruin himself! Oh, I could scream with vexation!”

Lady Bellingham regarded her doubtfully. “But you said much yourself, my dear. I remember distinctly—”

“It doesn’t signify in the least,” said Miss Grantham. “He hi no right to say it”

Lady Bellingham agreed to this wholeheartedly, after watching her niece pace round the room for several minutes, ventured to inquire what had happened during the course of the drive. Miss Grantham stopped dead her tracks, and replied in a shaking voice: “He tried to bribe me!”

“Tried to bribe you not to marry Adrian, Deb?” asked her aunt. “But how very odd of him, when you had never the lea intention of doing so! What can have put such a notion in his head?”

“I am sure I don’t know, and certainly I don’t care a fig replied Deborah untruthfully. “He had the insolence to offer me five thousand pounds if I would relinquish my pretensions—my pretensions!—to Adrian’s hand and heart!”

Lady Bellingham, over whose plump countenance a hopeful expression had begun to creep, looked disappointed, she said: “Five thousand! I must say, Deb, I think that is shabby!”

“I said that I feared he was trying to trifle with me,” recounted Miss Grantham with relish.

“Well, and I am sure you could not have said anything better, my love! I declare, I did not think so meanly of him!”

“Then,” continued Miss Grantham, “he said he would double that figure.”

Lady Bellingham dropped her reticule. “Ten thousand!” she exclaimed faintly. “No, never mind my reticule, Deb, it don’t signify! What did you say to that?”

“I said, Paltry!” answered Miss Grantham.

Her aunt blinked at her. “Paltry ... Would you—would you call it paltry, my love?”

“I did call it paltry. I said I would not let Adrian slip through my fingers for a mere ten thousand. I enjoyed saying that, Aunt Lizzie!”

“Yes, my dear, but—but was it wise, do you think?”

“Pooh, what can he do, pray?” said Miss Grantham scornfully. “To be sure, he flew into as black a temper as my own, and took no pains to conceal it from me. I was excessively glad to see him so angry! He said—about Ormskirk—Oh, if I were a man, to be able to call him out, and run him through, and through, and through!”

Lady Bellingham, who appeared quite shattered, said feebly that you could not run a man through three times. “At least, I don’t think so,” she added. “Of course, I never was present at a duel, but there are always seconds, you know, and they would be bound to stop you.”

“Nobody would stop me!” declared Miss Grantham bloodthirstily. “I would like to carve him into mincemeat!”

“Oh dear, I can’t think where you get such unladylike notions!” sighed her aunt. “I do trust that you did not say it?”

“No, I said that I thought I should make Adrian a famous wife. That made him angrier than ever. I thought he might very likely strangle me. However, he did not. He asked me what figure I set upon myself.”

Lady Bellingham showed a flicker of hope. “And what answer did you make to that, Deb?”

“I said I should be very green to accept less than twenty thousand!”

“Less than—My love, where are my smelling-salts? I do not feel at all the thing! Twenty thousand! It is a fortune! He must have thought you had taken leave of your senses!”

“Very likely, but he said he would pay me twenty thousand if I would release Adrian.”

Lady Bellingham sank back in her chair, holding the vinaigrette to her nose.

“So then,” concluded Miss Grantham, with reminiscent pleasure, “I said that after all I preferred to marry Adrian.”

A moan from her aunt brought her eyes round to that afflicted lady. “Mablethorpe instead of twenty thousand pounds?” demanded her ladyship, in quavering accents. “But you told me positively you would not have him!”

“Of course I shall not!” said Miss Grantham impatiently. “At least, not unless I marry him in a fit of temper,” she added, with an irrepressible twinkle.

“Deb, either you are mad, or I am!” announced Lady Bellingham, lowering the vinaigrette. “Oh, it does not beat thinking of! We might have been free of all our difficulties! Ring the bell; I must have the hartshorn!”

Deborah looked at her in incredulous astonishment. “Aunt Eliza! You did not suppose—you could not suppose that I would allow that odious man to buy me off?” she gasped.

“Kit might have bought his exchange! Not to mention the mortgage!” mourned her ladyship.

“Kit buy his exchange out of—out of blood-money? He would prefer to sell out!”

“Well, but, my love, there is no need to call it by such an ugly name, I am sure! You do not want young Mablethorpe, after all I...”

“Aunt, you would not have had me accept a bribe!”

“Not an ordinary bribe, dear Deb! Certainly not! But twenty thousand—Oh, I can’t say it!”

“It was the horridest insult I have ever received!” said Deborah hotly.

“You can’t call a sum like that an insult!” protested her ladyship. “If only you would not be so impulsive! Think of poor dear Kit! He is coming home on leave too, and he says he has fallen in love. Was ever anything so unfortunate? It is all very well to talk of insults, but one must be practical, Deb! Seventy pounds for green peas, and here you are throwing twenty thousand to the winds! And the end of it will be that you will fall into Ormskirk’s hands! I can see it all! The only comfort I have is that I shall very likely die before it happens, because I can feel my spasms coming on already.”

She closed her eyes as she spoke, apparently resigning herself to her approaching end. Miss Grantham said defiantly: “I am not in the least sorry. I will make him sorry he ever dared to think I was the kind of creature who would entrap a silly boy into marrying me!”

This announcement roused Lady Bellingham to open her eyes again, and to say in a bewildered way: “But you told me you said you would marry him!”

“I said so to Ravenscar. That is nothing!”

“But I don’t see how he can help thinking it if you told him So!”

“Yes, and I told him also, that I meant to set up my own faro-bank when I am Lady Mablethorpe,” nodded Miss Grantham, dwelling fondly on these recollections. “And I said I should change everything at Mablethorpe. He looked as though he would have liked to hit me!”

Lady Bellingham regarded her with a fascinated stare. “Deb, you were not—you were not vulgar?”

“Yes, I was. I was as vulgar as I could be, and I shall be more vulgar presently!”

“But why?” almost shrieked her ladyship.

Miss Grantham swallowed, blushed, and said in a small-girl voice: “To teach him a lesson!”

Lady Bellingham sank back again. “But what is the use of teaching people lessons? Besides, I cannot conceive what he is to learn from such behaviour! I do hope, my dearest love, that you have not got a touch of the sun! I do not know how you can be so odd!”

“Well, it is to punish him,” said Miss Grantham, goaded. “He will not like it at all when he hears that Adrian is going to marry me. I dare say he will try to do something quite desperate.”

“Offer you more money?” asked Lady Bellingham, once more reviving.

“If he offered me a hundred thousand pounds I would fling it in his face!” declared Miss Grantham.

“Deb,” said her aunt earnestly, “it is sacrilege to talk like that! What—what, you unnatural girl, is to become of me? Only remember that odious bill from Priddy’s, and the wheatstraw, and the new barouche!”

“I know, Aunt Lizzie,” said Deborah, conscience-stricken. “But indeed I could not!”

“You will have to marry Mablethorpe,” said Lady Bellingham despairingly.

“No, I won’t’

“My head goes round and round!” complained her aunt, pressing a hand to her brow. “First you say that Ravenscar will be sorry when he hears you are to marry Mablethorpe, and now you say you won’t marry him!”

“I shall pretend that I am about to marry him,” explained Miss Grantham. “Of course I shall not do so in the end!”

“Well!” exclaimed Lady Bellingham. “That is shabby treatment indeed! I declare it would be quite shocking to serve the poor boy such a trick”

Miss Grantham looked guilty, and twisted her ribbons. “Yes, but I don’t think that he will mind, Aunt Lizzie. In fact, I dare say he will be glad to be rid of me presently, because ten to one he will fall in love with someone else, and I assure you I don’t mean to be kind to him! And in any event,” she added, with a flash of spirit, “it serves him right for having such an abominable cousin”

Chapter 6

When Lord Mablethorpe was admitted to the house in St James’s Square, he was quite as much surprised as delighted to find Miss Grantham in a most encouraging mood. He was so accustomed to her laughing at him, and teasing him for his adoration of her, that he could scarcely believe his ears when, in response to his usual protestations of undying love, she allowed him to take her hand, and to press hot kisses on to her veined wrist.

“Oh, Deb, my lovely one, my dearest! If you would only marry me!” he said, in a thickened voice.

She touched his curly, cropped head caressingly. “Perhaps I will, Adrian.”

He was transported with rapture immediately, and caught her in his arms. “Deb! Deb, you are not funning? You mean it?”

She set her hands against his chest, holding him off a little. He was so young, and so absurdly vulnerable, that she felt compunction stir in her breast, and might have abandoned this way of punishing his cousin had she not recalled Ravenscar’s prediction that this youthful ardour would not last. She knew enough of striplings to be reasonably sure that this was true; and indeed wondered if it would even endure for two months. So she let him kiss her, which he did rather inexpertly, and gave him to understand that she was perfectly serious.

He began at once to make plans for the future. These included a scheme for a secret wedding to be performed immediately, and it took Deborah some time to convince him that such hole-in-corner behaviour was not to be contemplated for an instant. He had a great many arguments to put forward in support of his plan, but was presently brought to abandon it, on the score of its being very uncomplimentary to his bride. This notion, once delicately instilled into his brain, bore instant fruit. He was resolved to follow no course that could suggest to his world that he was in any way ashamed of Miss Grantham. At the same time, he continued to be urgent with Deborah to permit him to announce their betrothal in the columns of the London Gazette, and was with difficulty restrained from running off to arrange for the insertion of his advertisement then and there. Miss Grantham would not hear of it. She pointed out that, as a minor, it would lie in the power of his mother to contradict the advertisement in the next issue of the paper. He agreed to it that this would be very bad, and was obliged to admit that Lady Mablethorpe would be quite likely to take such prompt and humiliating action. But he thought it would be proper to advise his relations of the impending marriage, and begged Deborah’s permission to do so. She was half-inclined to refuse it, but a suspicion that Lady Mablethorpe had probably been behind Mr Ravenscar’s abominable conduct induced her to relent. She said that Adrian might tell his mother, but in strict confidence.

“I dare say there will be a great deal of unpleasantness,” she pointed out, “and you would not wish to lay me open to anything of that nature, would you?”

No, indeed! He wished nothing less. She was right, as always. “Only, Deb, I should like to tell Max. You will not object to that?”

“Not in the least!” said Deborah, with quite unnecessary emphasis. “I wish you will tell him!”

“Oh, that is famous!” he said, catching her hand to his lips again. “I knew you could not mind Max’s knowing! In point of fact, he knows my feelings: he is a good fellow, Max! He always gets me out of scrapes, you know, and he don’t preach like my uncle. I always tell him things.”

“Oh!” said Miss Grantham.

“You will like him excessively,” his lordship assured her. “He is quite my best friend. He is one of my trustees, you know.”

“Oh!” said Miss Grantham again.

“Yes, and that is in part why I told him about you, my dearest. Well, I did hope that he might be brought to explain it all to my mother, but he would not. I was devilish angry with him at the time, but I dare say he was right. I told him I did not think that be would fail me, but he promised me that he did not mean to, so you will see that everything will come about famously!”

“He said that, did he?” said Miss Grantham, in an odd voice. “Indeed!”

His lordship’s blue eyes smiled into hers with such an unclouded look of innocence that she shut her lips tightly on the words that were hovering on the tip of her tongue. “Why do you say it like that, Deb? Don’t you like Max?”

Miss Grantham was obliged to exercise her powers of self-restraint to the utmost. She would have been very happy to have poured the whole story of the insults she had endured into Lord Mablethorpe’s ears. That would shatter for ever Adrian’s blind trust in his cousin, and destroy whatever influence Ravenscar possessed over the boy. If he were fond of Adrian, which he seemed to be, it might even make him as unhappy as he deserved to be. Unfortunately, it was certain that it would make Adrian unhappy too. Miss Grantham resolved, with real heroism, to keep her dealings with Ravenscar secret. She said that she was not yet much acquainted with him.

“You will soon know him better,” promised Adrian. “You shall meet Arabella too—she is his half-sister. She is coming up to town today, and Max is actually going to take her to the ridotto at Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow! You must know that Max is a sad case, and will never go to such parties in the ordinary way!”

“A ridotto?” Deborah exclaimed, forming another resolve. “Oh, how much I should like to go!”

“Would you? Would you indeed, Deb?” Mablethorpe said eagerly. “I did not ask you, because you never will consent to go anywhere with me! But I should like of all things to escort you there! We will take sculls at Westminster, I’ll bespeak a box at Vauxhall, and we will spend the jolliest evening!”

He was not quite so enthusiastic about Miss Grantham’s suggestion that Lucius Kennet, and some other lady, should join the party, but upon its being pointed out to him that it would not be seemly for his adored Deborah to be seen alone with him, he acquiesced with a good grace, and very soon went off to make all the preparations imaginable to ensure the evening’s being a success.

Miss Grantham also made preparations, the first of these being to sally forth to Bond Street to buy herself some coquelicot ribbon, and a headdress quite as startling as any which her aunt could show. Poppy-coloured ribbons with a vive a bergere gown of green and white stripes would, she fancied, present a shockingly garish picture. If that failed to introduce the desired note of vulgarity, the head, which was constructed of a wisp of lace, a bunch of ribbons, and three of the tallest, most upstanding ostrich plumes ever seen, could not but achieve its object.

Mr Lucius Kennet did not put in a second appearance in St James’s Square until an advanced hour in the evening. When he did stroll into the gaming-saloon, Miss Grantham, who was standing behind the dealer at the faro-table, moved across the floor to meet him, and at once drew him aside. “Lucius,” she said anxiously, “do you know a vulgar widow?”

He burst out laughing. “Sure, what would you be wanting with the same, me darlin’?”

“Well, she need not be a widow,” conceded Deborah. “Only my aunt said that it was a pity you were acquainted with so many vulgar widows, that I thought—The thing is that I am going to Vauxhall with Mablethorpe tomorrow, and I shall need you. And the widow too, of course.”

It was not to be expected that Lucius Kennet would refrain from demanding an explanation of this odd request. Miss Grantham, who had been in the habit of confiding all her troubles to him, then took him into the adjoining saloon, and gave him a fluent account of the day’s events. He whistled when he heard of her refusal to accept twenty thousand pounds, but he had a very lively sense of humour, and her scheme for revenging herself appealed to him so strongly that he vowed he did not blame her for choosing it in preference to sordid gold. He promised to present himself at Mablethorpe’s box at Vauxhall with a widow who should be everything that was desired, and went off, still chuckling, to join a number of gentlemen seated round a table, and intent upon hazard.

Mr Ravenscar, meanwhile, had driven away in a towering rage, quite as heartily resolved as Miss Grantham to be revenged. To be crossed was a new experience, for from the circumstances of his father having died when he was still a very young man, and of his having come into the possession of the Ravenscar fortune, he had been used for a number of years to have everything very much as he chose. He was, in fact, accustomed to flattery, and downright sycophancy, both of which he despised; and since they had discovered from experience that he had a decided will of his own, neither his stepmother nor his aunt ever made any but half-hearted attempts to influence him. To be outfaced, therefore, by a girl from a gaming-house was something he had never anticipated, nor, consequently, made any plans to counter. He had been as surprised as he was enraged by the intransigent attitude assumed by Miss Grantham; his pride, bruised at the outset by the necessity of buying off such a creature, had now received a wound from which it would be long before it recovered. The thoughts he cherished about the lady were quite as unkind as any she indulged towards him; and his will was now set on rescuing Adrian from her toils without enriching her by as much as a farthing.

But although Mr Ravenscar’s imperious temper was hot, it was by no means ungoverned, since he was, as Miss Grantham had at first supposed, a sensible, even a hard-headed man. After dwelling grimly upon every circumstance of his encounter with Deborah, he was obliged to confess that her behaviour was not only unexpected, but almost inexplicable. His dislike of not getting his own way, coupled with the conviction of an infuriated moment that no price would be too heavy to pay to extricate Adrian from such an entanglement, had prompted him to make his final offer. The offer was regretted as soon as it was made, for twenty thousand pounds was a fantastic figure, and Mr Ravenscar disliked being swindled as much as he disliked having his will crossed. But the very magnitude of the sum ought at least to have given Miss Grantham pause. She had indeed pretended to consider the matter, but he was convinced that this was the merest affectation. She had never the smallest intention of relinquishing Adrian.

Having observed her demeanour towards his cousin, Ravenscar was perfectly certain that she did not feel a spark of love for him. He could only suppose that she had set her heart on acquiring a title, and a position in the world of ton. He acknowledged that he had not, at their first meeting, thought this of her. Reflecting, he admitted that on the whole he had been rather pleasantly surprised by her. She had a frank way of looking at one, and very easy, unaffected manners, quite at variance with the airs she had assumed during their drive together. Mr Ravenscar remembered the flash he had seen in her eyes, and frowned again. Had the circumstances been other than they were, he would almost have suspected her of being very angry. Her position in her aunt’s house, her enslavement of a green boy out of the schoolroom, her connexion with such a notorious rake as Ormskirk, must, however, put such a possibility out of count. He decided that she was playing a deep game, and registered a mental oath to frustrate her. But while he was turning over plans in his head, still that seed of doubt troubled his mind, and was presently fostered by a hurried visit from Lord Mablethorpe.

His lordship paid his second morning call in Grosvenor Square scarcely an hour after Ravenscar reached the house again, after taking his greys to Kensington and back. Hearing that his cousin was in his library, he declined being announced, but erupted upon Ravenscar without ceremony, saying impetuously as he entered the room: “Max! I am very sorry—you won’t mind, I am persuaded!—I find I cannot go with you to Vauxhall tomorrow!”

“Very well,” replied Ravenscar. “Have a glass of Madeira!”

“Well, really I ought to be on my way! However, perhaps—I have a toast to drink, Max!”

Ravenscar poured out the wine into two glasses. “Is it a momentous one? Shall I send for the Burgundy?”

Adrian laughed. “No, I like your Madeira. I must tell you that I have just come this instant from St James’s Square.” Ravenscar paused in the act of picking up his glass. He shot a quick, frowning look at his cousin. “Indeed!”

“Yes, and so I came on here at once. I had to see you!” Ravenscar stiffened, and turned to face his lordship. “Yes?”

“Max, she has consented at last!” Adrian said joyfully. “She says she will marry me as soon as I come of age!”

Ravenscar’s eyes remained fixed on the handsome young face confronting him, a startled expression in them. “Is that all she said?” he demanded.

“Good God, what more could I desire to hear from her? What a fellow you are, to be sure! She considers it would be unwise to announce the betrothal, but she made no objection to my telling you, and my mother, of course.”

“Oh, she made no objection to that? You said, in fact, that you would tell me?”

“Yes, certainly, and she said I might do so with her good will. Max, I am the happiest man alive! And that is why I cannot go with your party to Vauxhall.. I knew you would understand! Deb has a great fancy to go there, and I am to escort her. I am off now to bespeak a box, and supper. Bu first we must drink to my betrothal!”

Ravenscar picked up his glass. “I will drink to your future happiness,” he said.

Adrian tossed off his wine, and set the glass down. “Well that is the same thing. I must be off! I shall see you in a day or two, I dare say.”

“At Vauxhall, no doubt. Do you value my advice?”

“Why, you know I do!” Adrian said, pausing, with his hand on the door, and looking back.

“Say nothing of this to your mother.”

“Oh, you are too late! I have told her! Of course, she don’ like it, but only wait until she is acquainted with Deb! She will very soon change her opinion.”

It was fortunate that he was in haste to be off, and so did no wait long enough to see the expression in his cousin’s face look of contemptuous disbelief made Mr Ravenscar appear rather saturnine, and must have startled his unsuspicious relative. But he went away in happy ignorance of Ravenscar’s thoughts, bent only on making every arrangement for Miss Grantham’s entertainment on the following evening.

He left his cousin a prey to conflicting emotions. Rage at Miss Grantham for having countered his attack so swiftly rage at her impudence in encouraging Adrian to inform him o: the engagement, struggled with the first tiny shoots of the seed of doubt in his mind. It might be that Deborah was seeking to force up her price: but could she possibly hope for a larger sum than had already been offered to her? Considering this, he recalled that she had rallied him, on their first meeting on being the rich Mr Ravenscar. She had heard him lay a preposterous bet; perhaps she imagined that his fondness for Adrian would induce him to lay out some vast sum for his redemption. She should discover her mistake! But she had no told Adrian of her drive with him in the Park that morning He was unable to find a motive to account for this forbearance In his present white-hot ardour, Adrian would most assuredly have taken up the cudgels in her defence. She could have had nothing whatsoever to fear through laying bare the whole to Adrian, and she must have known this. What the devil was the wench up to? She might have destroyed at a blow any influence he had ever had over Adrian, and, incalculably, she had refrained from doing it. Mr Ravenscar began, reluctantly, to feel interested in the working of Miss Grantham’s mind.

The knowledge that Adrian had informed his parent of Deborah’s acceptance of his hand prepared Ravenscar for the inevitable sequel. Before the day was out, Lady Mablethorpe’s lozenge-carriage had drawn up in Grosvenor Square, and her ladyship, awe-inspiring in purple lusting and nodding plumes, was demanding to see her nephew.

Her call followed hard upon the arrival from Tunbridge Wells of Mrs and Miss Ravenscar, and she entered the house to find herself in a hall piled high with cloak-bags, portmanteaus, and band-boxes, which several harassed servants were endeavouring to remove with all possible dispatch. She was annoyed to find that she had mistimed her visit, but after a moment’s hesitation she decided to remain, and requested the butler to send in her card to Mrs Ravenscar.

She was almost immediately desired to step upstairs to the drawing-room, where she found her sister-in-law lying on a satin sofa, with her smelling-salts in her hand, and a glass of ratafia-and-water on a small table beside her. Chattering animatedly to Ravenscar, by the window, her niece, Arabella, presented an agreeable picture in a flowered gown with fluttering ribbons, and a demure fichu round her neck.

Miss Ravenscar bore very little resemblance to her mother, who was a classically beautiful woman of pale colouring, and rather expressionless features. Miss Ravenscar was a tiny brunette, with the most vivid, mischievous little face imaginable. She was quite as dark as her half-brother, and much better looking. Her short upper lip had the most enchanting lift; her pansy-eyes sparkled as she talked, and a pair of dimples played at hide-and-seek at the corners of her mouth. When she caught sight of her aunt, she came running across the room to meet her, crying: “Oh, my dear Aunt Selina, how pleased I am to see you again! Oh, dearest aunt, I declare I never saw such a terrifying bonnet! It makes me quite frightened of you! I wonder my cousin will let you wear such an abominable thing!”

“Arabella, my love!” expostulated Mrs Ravenscar, in feeble accents.

But Arabella’s lilting smile and warm embrace quite robbed her impertinent speech of offence. Lady Mablethorpe patted her indulgently, calling her a naughty puss, and trod over to the sofa to kiss her sister-in-law’s faded cheek. Privately, she considered that Olivia might very well have risen to welcome her, but she made no comment, merely remarking that she was sorry to see her looking so poorly.

“It was the journey,” explained Mrs Ravenscar, in a gently complaining tone. “I have been telling Max he must positively have the coach-springs attended to. I thought I should have been shattered by the jolting. You must excuse my receiving you upon my sofa, but you know how the least exertion prostrates me, my dear Selina. Do, pray, be seated. How noisy it is in town! I do not know how my nerves will support it. I am conscious of all the bustle already.”

Lady Mablethorpe had-little patience with such fancies, but she was a civil woman, and for the next few minutes she listened with outward sympathy to a description of the many and varied ailments which had overtaken her sister-in-law since their last meeting.

Arabella broke in presently on her mother’s lamentations, exclaiming: “Oh, Mama, you know it is quite decided that you are not going to find London too fatiguing for you this time! I am so happy to be here again! I mean to go to all the balls, and the ridottos, and the masquerades, and the theatres, and—oh, everything! And you know you are to go with me to all the best warehouses to choose the stuffs for my new dresses, for I declare I have not a rag to my back, and no one has such good taste as you, dearest!”

Mrs Ravenscar smiled faintly, but said that she feared her health would break down under the strain.

“Well, if it does, Arabella knows she may count upon me,”, said Lady Mablethorpe bracingly. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to take the child about a little. I have often been sorry that I had never a daughter.”

This was not strictly true, but it had the effect of making Arabella hug her ruthlessly, and call her darling aunt. Lady Mablethorpe was more than ever convinced that it would be the greatest shame if the sweet child were not to be her daughter-in-law.

This reflection brought to her mind the purpose of her visit, and she cast a glance towards Ravenscar, so fraught with meaning that he could scarcely have remained oblivious of it. He contrived, however, to appear unaware of the silent message thus conveyed to him, and her ladyship was obliged to request the favour of a few words with him.

“Certainly,” he said. “Will you come down to the library, ma’am?”

She accepted this not very cordial invitation, and made her excuses to Mrs Ravenscar, promising to visit her again when she should have had time to settle down.

Ravenscar led the way downstairs, and ushered his aunt into the library. She barely waited for him to close the door before saying: “I would not for the world mention the matter before that dear child! But the most shocking thing has happened, Max!”

“I know it,” he replied. “Miss Grantham has accepted Adrian’s offer.”

“You told me you would see the woman, Max!”

“I did see her.”

“But you did nothing! I quite depended on you! I was never so mortified!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. My efforts on your behalf have so far been entirely unavailing. Miss Grantham will not be bought off.”

“Good God!” said her ladyship, sinking down on to the nearest chair. “Then we are lost indeed! What is to be done?”

“I do not see that you can do anything to the purpose. You had better leave it in my hands. I am determined Adrian shall not lead that woman to the altar.”

Lady Mablethorpe shuddered. “Is she dreadful?”

“She is an impudent strumpet!” said Mr Ravenscar coldly.

“Really, Max! Not that I doubt it! I always knew she was a hateful creature. Tell me about her! Is she beautiful, or is that poor Adrian’s folly?”

“No, she is extremely handsome,” responded Ravenscar.

“In a vulgar style, I conclude? A painted hussy?”

“No. She is not painted. I cannot say that I found her vulgar at our first meeting. She has a pleasant way; her manners are a little free, but not disagreeably so; her voice is good; her air and countenance quite distinguished. As far as appearances go, she will do very well.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” gasped his aunt.

“No, I haven’t. I said, as far as appearances go. Under this not unprepossessing exterior, she is a harpy.”

“Heaven help my poor boy!” moaned Lady Mablethorpe.

“I hope heaven may do so; I most certainly shall. Leave he to me, ma’am! If I have to kidnap Adrian, she shall not get her talons into him!”

She seemed to consider this suggestion on its merits, and to be not ill-pleased with it. “Do you suppose that would answer? she asked.

“No.”

“Then what in the world is the use of thinking of such a thing?” she demanded crossly.

“I am not thinking of it. I would sooner kidnap the girl.”

“Max!” exclaimed his aunt, as an unwelcome thought entered her brain. “Do not tell me that she has got you under her odious spell!”

“You may rest perfectly at ease on that score, ma’am,” he said harshly. “I do not recall when I have met any woman who I disliked more!”

She was relieved in a slight measure, but said: “Do you think her determined to marry my unfortunate boy?”

“I am not sure. It may well be that she is trying to frighten us into offering her more money. Adrian’s birthday is all too close at hand, and she knows it. Her behaviour in coming into the open points that way.”

“We shall have to give her whatever she asks,” said Lady Mablethorpe gloomily.

“I have already offered her twenty thousand,” he said, in a curt tone.

Her ladyship changed colour. “Twenty thousand! Are you mad? The estate can never stand it!”

“Don’t alarm yourself!” he said ironically. “I was not proposing to pledge Adrian’s fortune.”

She stared at him, quite astonished. “Well, I must say, Max, I never looked for such generosity from you! I am very grateful, I assure you, but—”

“You have nothing to thank me for,” he interrupted. “She refused.”

“She must be out of her senses!”

“I know nothing of that, but she has certainly mistaken her man.”

She moved restlessly in her chair. “I wish I might see the woman!”

His lips curled. “So you may, if you care to accompany us to Vauxhall tomorrow. Adrian is to take her there, to the ridotto.”

“Flaunting him in the eyes of the world!” she cried indignantly.

“Precisely. Or in my eyes: I cannot be certain which.”

She got up with an air of resolution. “Well, I will go with you. I dare say Olivia will be glad to let me take her place. Perhaps my deluded boy may be brought to a sense of his folly if he sees his mother when he has that creature on his arm!”

“I hope he may,” responded Ravenscar. “I would not myself be willing to hazard a penny on it, however.”

Chapter 7

Lady Bellingham’s emotions when she beheld her niece on the following evening threatened for a moment or two to overcome her. She could only stare at her with horrified eyes, and open and shut her mouth in an ineffective way.

Miss Grantham had come into her dressing-room to borrow her rouge-pot, and some patches. The vive bergere dress had always been arresting, for its green stripes were quite an inch broad, but until its owner had embellished it with knots of coquelicot ribbons it had been quite unexceptionable. It was amazing, thought poor Lady Bellingham, what a difference a few yards of ribbon could make! But even those shocking ribbons faded into insignificance beside the atrocity which Deborah had chosen to pin on to her elaborate coiffure. Fascinated, Lady Bellingham blinked at those three upstanding plumes, springing from a bed of gauze, and ribbon, and lace.

“I should like,” said Miss Grantham blandly, “to borrow your garnets, Aunt Lizzie, if you please.”

Lady Bellingham found her voice. “Garnets? With that dress? You cannot! Deb, for the love of heaven!”

“They are just what I need,” said Deborah, going to the dressing-table, and opening the jewel-casket that stood on it. “You’ll see!”

Lady Bellingham covered her eyes with her hand. “I don’t want to see!” she said. “You look—you look like some dreadful creature from the stage!”

“Yes, I think I do too,” replied her niece, apparently pleased. “Oh, do but look, aunt! Nothing could be more vulgar!”

Lady Bellingham permitted herself one glance at the garnets flashing round Deborah’s throat, and in the lobes of her ears, and gave a groan. “You cannot mean to go out looking such a figure of fun. I implore you, Deb, take off that shocking head!”

“Not for the world!” said Deborah, clasping a couple of bracelets round her wrists. “But I must paint my face a little, and put on just one patch.”

“No one wears patches now!” protested her aunt. “Oh, Deb, what are you about? And why did you have your hair powdered, pray? It makes you look thirty years old at least! For heaven’s sake, child, if you must wear a patch let it be a small one, not that great vulgar thing!”

Miss Grantham gave a gurgle of laughter, and stood back to survey her image in the mirror. “Dear Aunt Lizzie, I told you that I was going to be vulgar! I look famous!”

“Deb!” said her aunt, in anguished accents. “Do but think of that poor young Mablethorpe! How can you be so unfeeling as to go out in his company looking so odd? He will very likely be ready to sink into the ground!”

“I dare say he will notice nothing amiss,” said Miss Grantham optimistically. “And if he does, it won’t signify.”

Lord Mablethorpe was in a condition when he might have been expected to be blind to any shortcomings in the dress of his adored Deborah, but not even his infatuation was strong enough to make him oblivious of that astonishing head. It obtruded itself upon his notice at the outset, since it seriously impeded Miss Grantham’s entrance to the carriage which was to carry them to Westminster. She was obliged to duck her head as low as she could to get through the door, and when she sat down on the seat, the feathers brushed against the roof of the carriage. Lord Mablethorpe cast them a doubtful glance, but was too respectful to make any comment.

They took sculls at Westminster, to carry them across the river, and that nothing should be wanting to add to Miss Grantham’s pleasure, and give consequence to the expedition, his lordship had lavishly arranged for a boat of French horns to attend them. Miss Grantham was touched by this boyish piece of extravagance, but could not help laughing a little.

Vauxhall Gardens, which were enjoying a run of extreme popularity, were soon reached. It was a very fine autumn evening, but although there was still daylight the walks and the alleys were already lit by a quantity of lanterns, and lamps burning in innumerable golden globes. Lord Mablethorpe piloted Miss Grantham towards the centre of the pleasure gardens where, in a large, open space, a number of booths, or boxes, for refreshment were arranged in two wide semi-circles. The booths presented a festive appearance, being well-lit, and adorned with gay paintings on their backs. In the middle of the open space an orchestra was playing, and couples strolling about to meet and greet acquaintances, or to show off smart toilettes. Dancing was going forward in the big rotunda near at hand, and at a more advanced hour in the evening a Firework Display was promised.

The booth which Mablethorpe had hired for the night being reached, it was found that Mr Kennet and his fair partner had already arrived there, and were enjoying a somewhat noisy flirtation. One glance informed Miss Grantham that Mrs Patch was all that she had hoped. She was an improbable blonde of uncertain years, with a very much painted face, a singularly penetrating voice, and a laugh which made Mablethorpe wince. Lucius Kennet called her Clara, and seemed to be on terms of the greatest familiarity with her. He was engaged in taking snuff from her dimpled wrist when Deborah and his host joined them, and as he turned to greet the newcomers he winked once, very broadly, at Deborah.

Mrs Patch, upon being made known to Adrian, treated him with a kind of arch flattery that quite set Deborah’s teeth on edge. If his lordship were momentarily taken aback by the company in which he found himself, he was far too well-bred to betray it, and at once did his best to fall in with Mrs Patch’s notions of convivial behaviour. He succeeded well enough to make her hide her supposed blushes behind her fan, rap him playfully over the knuckles with it, and declare that she vowed he was the wickedest creature alive.

Under cover of this raillery, Deborah said in an awed voice to Kennet: “Good God, Lucius, where did you find such a person?”

He removed her cloak from her shoulders. “Why, isn’t she what you told me you wanted, me dear? And me thinking I’d hit upon the very thing!”

Her lips twitched. “Indeed, she could not be better! But how shabby it is of us to subject that poor boy to such vulgarity!”

Mr Kennet, who had had time to assimilate the full glory of Miss Grantham’s dress, gave vent to one of his low whistles. He eyed her with considerable respect. “If it’s vulgarity you’re talking of, me darlin’—”

She bit back a laugh. “I know, I know! Poor Aunt Lizzie is in despair. Tell me, is Ravenscar here? Have you seen him?”

“No, but we shall have the best view of him, and he of us, God help him! For I’ve prowled round the booths, and found his card on the door of that empty box over there. There’s little he will miss, I’m thinking.”

“Good!” said Deborah, moving forward to the front of the booth.

The green stripes, now first seen by Lord Mablethorpe, hit him most forcibly in the eye, and almost caused him to change colour. He was too inexperienced in the niceties of female fashions to think his Deborah’s dress vulgar, but he did wish that she had chosen a more sober combination of colours than grass-green and coquelicot. He did not think, either, that the dusting of powder on her hair became her very well. It made her look old, almost like a stranger; while the over-large patch at the corner of her mouth he did not admire at all. As for the feathers in her headdress, he supposed, vaguely, that they must be quite the thing, but he could not help wishing that she had worn her hair simply dressed, in the way she was accustomed to.

He asked her if she would like to go into the pavilion to dance, but she declined, saying that it was more amusing to watch the crowd passing and repassing the box. So he pulled a chair forward for her, and established himself at her elbow, while Lucius Kennet took Mrs Patch to stroll about the grounds, and to see the waterworks.

There were quite a number of fashionable people parading about the gardens, and Miss Grantham soon recognized most of the habitants of her aunt’s house. The boxes began to fill up, and presently, in the one beside Ravenscar’s, she observed Sir James Filey, gorgeous in a coat of puce brocade, and leaning over a chair in which a scared-looking child with pale golden ringlets and forget-me-not blue eyes sat bolt upright, clutching a fan between her mittened hands.

The child, who was as pretty as a picture, Miss Grantham saw, could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen, and to watch a roué of Filey’s years and experience leering down at her made Miss Grantham long to be able to box his ears, and send him to the right-about. There was a formidable dowager in the booth, who seemed to look upon Filey’s advances with an approving eye; a harassed-looking man with a peevishly pursed mouth, who might be her husband; a young woman, whom Miss Grantham judged to be the pretty child’s sister; and a stout, middle-aged man with a dull face, and an air of consequence.

Miss Grantham directed Lord Mablethorpe’s attention to this party, and asked him if he knew who the child was. He did not, but after glancing at the dowager, he said: “Oh, she must be one of the Laxton girls! That’s Lady Laxton, horrid old wretch! Laxton, too. I suppose the other lady to be the eldest daughter. She was married last year to some nabob or other. My mother says Lady Laxton don’t care whom she married them to as long as there’s money. Poor as church mice, the Laxtons. I know the two sons slightly. I believe there are five daughters.”

“That is certainly a cross for any mother to bear, but I hope she does not mean to marry that poor child to Filey. Do but see how frightened the little thing looks! I wish I sat in her place! She is no match for him!”

He laughed. “No! You would soon send him about his business! I have heard you give some famous set-downs.”

As he spoke, the door leading into Ravenscar’s box was opened, and he saw his mother enter it, closely followed by Arabella and Ravenscar. He exclaimed: “Good God, there is my mother! I had no notion she was to be here! She said nothing of it to me. I suppose Aunt Olivia has the spasms again, and would not come. Look, Deb! That is Arabella: isn’t she a rogue?”

He waved to the party, trying to attract their attention, but although Ravenscar perceived him, and returned the salutation, Lady Mablethorpe was too busy directing one of the waiters where to place her chair, and when to serve supper, to pay any heed. But Arabella saw her cousin, and at once blew him an airy kiss. Miss Grantham thought that Arabella was rather a sweet little creature, and wondered that Adrian’s fancy should have alighted on a woman five years his senior when such a charming and eligible cousin stood ready, surely, to be fallen in love with.

Adrian turned to her. “Deb, I want to take you over, and make you known to my mother! Do please come!”

“Certainly!” replied Deborah, rising from her chair and shaking out her full skirts.

Mr Ravenscar, meanwhile, had enjoyed only the briefest glimpse of her. This had sufficed to make him acutely aware of her headdress, but it was not until he saw her approaching the front of his box on Adrian’s arm that he had the opportunity of taking in the full enormity of the green stripes, poppy-red ribbons, and crimson garnets. He was not a man who wasted much thought on female dress, but the difference between Miss Grantham’s appearance tonight and her appearance on the previous two occasions when he had been in her company struck him most forcibly. He had, in fact, thought her a woman of taste, so he was a good deal astonished at the flamboyance of her attire. Recalling that he had told his aunt that Miss Grantham was not vulgar, he touched her arm, saying somewhat grimly: “You had better be prepared to meet your future daughter-in-law, ma’am. Adrian is bringing her towards the box now.”

Lady Mablethorpe looked round immediately, and stiffened in outraged dismay at the approaching vision. She had no time to do more than throw one fulminating glance at her nephew before Adrian was leaning over the front of the box to shake hands with Arabella, saying: “I am so glad to see you again! I had meant to call in Grosvenor Square this morning, but something happened to prevent me. Mama, I did not know you meant to come here tonight! I have brought Deb over to see you!”

The affronted matron bowed slightly, and said in frigid tones that she was happy to make Miss Grantham’s acquaintance. Miss Grantham, to the uneasy surprise of her betrothed, simpered, and turned away her head, and uttered a memorable speech.

“Oh, la, ma’am—your ladyship, I should say!—I am sure you are monstrous good to say so! I declare I am quite of a tremble to be standing in front of one who is to be my Mama-in-law! But Adrian would have me come across to speak to you, and I thought to myself, Well, I thought, if it must be, let it be at once, for I was always one to rush upon my fate, as the saying is! But there! I am sure we shall deal extremely, after all.”

“Indeed!” said Lady Mablethorpe icily.

“Oh, la, yes, ma’am! I made sure you was a dragon, and my knees quite knocked together when Adrian said you was here, but I vow and declare the instant I clapped eyes on you I knew I should love you as though you were my own Mama! And then the affability with which you said you was happy to meet me—la, I’m sure I never looked for such a degree of condescension in one so far above me!”

A muscle twitched at the corner of Mr Ravenscar’s mouth. Nothing could exceed his dislike of Miss Grantham, but he had a sense of humour, and was hard put to it not to burst out laughing. If her object were to convince Lady Mablethorpe that no price would be too high to pay to rescue her son from such a woman as herself, it would certainly succeed, for her ladyship’s face was rigid with disgust, and she could barely bring herself to answer with at least a semblance of civility.

Arabella, meanwhile, was watching Miss Grantham in the liveliest astonishment. “Good gracious, are you going to marry Adrian?” she exclaimed, with that impetuosity so much regretted by her mother. “No one said a word about it to me!”

Miss Grantham recollected Mrs Patch’s arch use of a fan, and unfurled her own, and hid behind it. “Oh, I protest, Miss Ravenscar! You must spare my blushes!”

“But are you?” asked Arabella.

“That will do, child!” said her aunt.

“Of course she is going to marry me!” Adrian declared stoutly. “Won’t you wish us happy?”

“Yes, indeed I do,” Arabella responded, with a doubtful look at Miss Grantham. “I wish you very happy!”

“Adrian!” said his parent, in majestic tones. “I should like to talk to Miss Grantham. Do you take your cousin to dance while she sits with me for half-an-hour!”

Lord Mablethorpe, hoping that the extraordinary manners which Miss Grantham had assumed upon being presented to his mother had their origin in nervousness which would wear off as the two ladies became better acquainted, readily agreed to this suggestion, and said that he would bring Miss Grantham round to the door of the box. Miss Grantham giggled, and said that it seemed absurd to be obliged to go round to the back of the booths when she was sure she could jump over the low wall in front, if only Adrian would give her his hand. Then she said that she supposed that she would have to learn to behave respectably since she was to become a Viscountess, and consented to be led round to the back of the boxes.

When she made her entrance, in the correct manner, Mr Ravenscar left the booth. He would try a fall with her himself before very long and enjoy doing it, but it was no part of his plan to join his aunt in whatever scheme she might have in mind for the discomfiture of the minx.

He returned to the box a few minutes before Adrian let Arabella back to it. One glance at the two ladies was enough to assure him that it was not Miss Grantham who had suffered discomfiture. Lady Mablethorpe was looking crushed, and the glance she cast up at her nephew was one of pathetic entreaty.

She had sustained the most shattering half-hour of her life. She had subjected Miss Grantham to a catechism which had been intended to show that young woman how very far she stood from Adrian, and how very uncomfortable she would feel in Polite Society. It had apparently failed in this laudable object. Miss Grantham had replied with the greatest readiness and the most appalling frankness, to all the searching question put to her. She had remained throughout wholly oblivious to the most patent disapproval. She had been voluble, expansive, and shockingly vulgar; had confessed to a passion for all form of gaming; described in quite imaginary detail the events of several horse-races she said she had attended; and expressed desire to set up a select faro-bank in Brook Street. She had also ogled several bucks who had strolled past the box, and had claimed intimate acquaintance with three of the most notorious rakes in town. Her ladyship felt herself to be passing through a nightmare, and hailed the return of her nephew wit heartfelt relief. Miss Grantham assured him that she and Lad Mablethorpe were now the greatest of friends.

He received this information with raised brows, smiled slightly, and turned to address some idle remark to his aunt. Adrian and Arabella then came back to the box, and the two parties separated.

“How could you tell me she was not vulgar!” was all he ladyship could at first bring herself to say, and that in accents of bitter reproach.

“I told you the truth. She was not vulgar when I met her. Her manner tonight was certainly assumed.”

“Assumed! In heaven’s name why, if she wishes to win my consent to the match?”

“I am reasonably sure that she has no such wish. There is no doubt her way of trying to force up the price ma’am.”

“Whatever it is it must be paid!” said her ladyship, in great agitation.

“Whatever it is it shall not be paid!” said Mr Ravenscar. “Oh, don’t put yourself in a taking, my dear aunt! I shan’t let her marry Adrian!”

“How he could-!” she shuddered. “Look at her now! Look at that dreadful woman with her!”

Arabella, who had been attending to this with an air of lively interest, said: “Well, of course she was shockingly vulgar, Aunt Selina, but I could not help liking her a little, because she has such laughing eyes! And Adrian told me that she was not generally ill-at-ease, so perhaps she is not so very bad after all!”

“Ill-at-ease!” ejaculated Lady Mablethorpe. “I saw no sign of that! Do you call her behaviour at this moment ill-at-ease?”

Miss Grantham was seated by this time in the front of her own box, and was laughing immoderately at something Lucius Kennet had said to her. Her troubled swain laughed too but in a perfunctory manner. She could do no wrong in his enamoured eyes, but he did wish that she would not laugh so loudly, or flirt so much with her fan. Ably assisted by Kennet and Mrs Patch, she contrived to make their box the most stared at of any in the circle, so that he was glad when his carefully chosen supper had been eaten, and he was able to suggest a stroll through the gardens.

Miss Grantham, who was feeling quite exhausted by this time, went with him willingly, and behaved so prettily that he was soon in a fair way towards forgetting her previous conduct. He supposed her to have been excited, and nervous at being presented to his mother, and thought no more about it. Except for the coquelicot ribbons and that towering headdress, she was again his own dear Deb, and he spent a blissful half-hour, walking with her down the many paths of the gardens, and telling her how much he loved her.

It had grown dark by this time, and the coloured lights showed up brightly against the black sky. Lord Mablethorpe found a seat in a secluded alley, and persuaded Deborah to sit down for a few minutes. He began to describe his home to her, shyly expressing the hope that she would not find it very flat in the country; and had just asked her if she would not drive out with him one day to visit Mablethorpe, which was at no great distance from London, when the sound of a sob interrupted him.

He broke off, looking about him, but he could see no one. “I thought I heard someone crying,” he told Miss Grantham. “Did you hear anything?”

She had not, but even as she said so, the sound came again and from no great distance.

“Do you think we had better go away?” whispered his lord ship, looking alarmed.

“Go away? Certainly not! Someone is in trouble!” replied Miss Grantham, getting up, and peering down the alley.

Yet another heavy sob reached their ears. It seemed t, come from one of the small summer-houses which were dotted about the grounds. Miss Grantham walked up to it, and entered her tall figure silhouetted by the lights behind her. A frightened gasp greeted her arrival, followed by a breathless silence

“Is anyone here?” she asked, trying to pierce the gloom. “Can I help you?”

A very young and scared voice answered: “Please go away.”

By now Miss Grantham’s eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness, and she was able to discern a pale form huddled in a chair against the far wall. She made her way to this ghost-like figure, and said kindly: “But, my dear, indeed I cannot go away and leave you in such unhappiness! Come, can I not be of assistance?”

There was a tense pause; then the voice said desolately: “No one can help me! I wish I were dead!”

“Oh dear, is it as bad as that?” Miss Grantham asked, sitting down beside the pale figure, and drawing it into her arms. “Won’t you tell me what it is?”

Instead of complying with this request, the figure laid it head upon her shoulder, and burst into tears.

While Miss Grantham was endeavouring to soothe his grief, Lord Mablethorpe had unhooked one of the coloured lanterns from its stand outside the summer-house, and brought it inside. Its roseate light illuminated the figure in Miss Grantham’s arms, a woebegone face was turned towards his lord ship, and he saw that it belonged to the fair child in Lady Laxton’s box.

“Why, you must be Miss Laxton!” he exclaimed.

Miss Laxton was one of the fortunate few whom tears did not much disfigure. They sparkled on the ends of her lashes and drowned her blue eyes, but they made no unsightly blotches on her fair skin, and did not turn the tip of her little nose red. She said, with a catch in her voice: “Yes, I am Phoebe Laxton. Who are you, please?”

“I’m Mablethorpe,” responded his lordship, setting his Ian tern down on a rustic table, and drawing nearer. “I am a little acquainted with your brothers. I wish you will tell us how we may help you!”

Miss Laxton’s lip trembled, and her eyes filled again. She turned her face away. “You cannot help me. No one can! I am very sorry to be so tiresome! I did not think anyone would find me here.”

“Don’t cry!” said Miss Grantham. “Were you hiding from Sir James Filey?”

Miss Laxton looked startled, and stammered: “Oh, how did you know?”

“Our box is opposite yours, my dear. I saw him leaning over your chair, and I did not think you enjoyed having him so close.”

Miss Laxton shuddered and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “I meant to be good!” she managed to say. “Indeed I did! But I hate him so! And when he took me to walk about the gardens, I—I made up my mind I would do my duty. But when he offered for me, and—and kissed me, I c-couldn’t bear it, and I ran away! Oh, what shall I do?”

“You shall not marry Filey, that’s certain!” declared Lord Mablethorpe, revolted by the thought.

“You don’t understand,” said Miss Laxton mournfully. “There are three more of us at home, and Mama—and Mama—you see, she will make me!”

“No one can make you marry against your will,” Miss Grantham assured her. “You have only to be firm, my dear!”

Even as she said it, she realized that although there was great sweetness in Miss Laxton’s flower-like countenance, there was not an ounce of decision. It was plain that Phoebe Laxton was a gentle thing, easily led, and still more easily bullied.

“You do not know my Mama,” Phoebe said simply. “She will be so dreadfully angry, and I cannot bear people to be angry with me! Even Papa says it is my duty. You see, Sir James is very rich, and he will make a most g-generous settlement, and—and—only, I am afraid of him, and when he kissed me I knew I could not do it!”

Lord Mablethorpe sat down on the other side of her, and took her hand. “I should think not, indeed! But is there no one who will take your part?”

Her hand trembled a little in his, but she did not withdraw it. “There is only my Aunt Honoria, and she lives such a long way away, and is a great invalid beside and could not come to London. Papa is a little afraid of her, and she did write to him but—but he does not care much for letters. I thought if could only run away to aunt, she would hide me from Pap and Mama, or—or contrive something. But then I remembered that I haven’t any money, and it all seemed hopeless, an,—and that’s why I cried.”

Over her head Adrian’s and Deborah’s eyes met. “Deb, can’t we—? It’s horrible to think of such a child’s being tie to that devil!”

The hand stirred in his. “Oh, do you mean you will help me I thought no one could!” gasped Miss Laxton.

“If she goes back to the Laxtons she will be lost!” said Adrian.

“Yes, I think she will,” admitted Miss Grantham. “I must say I should like to throw a little rub in Filey’s way.”

“We must take her away from here,” said Adrian decidedly He bent his head over that other fair one. “You will be quit safe, with Miss Grantham, you know. She will take care of you, and we will contrive to convey you to your aunt.”

Miss Laxton sat up, a tinge of colour creeping into he cheeks. “Oh, will you really hide me? Oh, I did not think anyone cared what became of me! How good you are! He’s very kind!”

Adrian coloured too, and said in a low voice: “It’s no such thing! Anyone would be glad to be of service to you! You may trust us to take care of you. I promise you, Filey shall no pester you again!”

“I feel so safe with you!” sighed Miss Laxton, lifting worshipful eyes to his face.

Miss Grantham, who had been looking pensive for some minutes, now took a decision of her own, and said with strong suggestion of a laugh in her voice: “Well, that is settled! You will come home with me, my dear, and we will make up our minds presently what is to be done for the best Adrian, can we slip out of the gardens unobserved?”

He threw her a warm look of gratitude. “There is no on like you, Deb! I knew you would not fail! Trust me, I will take you out by the gate at this end of the place!”

It was plain that his confident air greatly impressed Miss Laxton. To her, he appeared as the god in the machine, and she seemed content to leave her fate in his hands. It was left however, to Miss Grantham to arrange the more practical detail of the escape, and this she did by directing his lordship return to their box for her cloak, and to inform Mr Kennet and Mrs Patch that she had the migraine, and was returning home immediately.

While he was performing this errand, the two ladies remained in the summer-house, Miss Laxton quite dazed by her unexpected rescue, and Miss Grantham weaving plans in her head which might have surprised, though possibly not displeased, her companion, had she been aware of them.

Adrian returned presently with Miss Grantham’s cloak, and his own roquelaure. Miss Grantham wrapped Miss Laxton up in the cloak, which was by far too big for her, and drew the hood up over her pale curls. She herself accepted the roquelaure, informing his lordship that knight-errantry entailed sacrifice. They then made their way out of the gardens, without encountering any acquaintances, took sculls across to Westminster, and there picked up a hackney, which carried them safely to St James’s Square. Here his lordship took leave of them, promising, however, to call early on the following morning. He kissed both their hands on the doorstep, and Miss Laxton said shyly that she did not know how to thank him for all his kindness. Miss. Grantham, who thought privately that if matters had been left to his lordship, Miss Laxton would have been allowed to sob her heart out in the summer-house while he beat a strategic and alarmed retreat, waited indulgently for this touching leave-taking to come to an end, and did not knock on the door until his lordship had said his last farewell.

Silas Wantage, opening the door to admit his mistress, looked with surprise at the muffled figure of her companion, and directed an inquiring glance at Deborah. “Now, what’s to do?” he asked.

“I have brought a friend home with me, Silas. Are there many here tonight?”

“There’s a few. Don’t tell me you’re not up to your tricks again, Miss Deb, for I wouldn’t believe you!”

“Never mind that!” said Miss Grantham, with the quiver of a smile. “You need not tell anyone that I am in the house. I don’t mean to go into the saloons tonight. Tell Betty I want her in my bedchamber immediately! Come, my dear. We will slip up the backstairs, and no one will see you. Oh, Silas, remember! There was no one with me when I came home!”

“No one with you,” repeated Mr Wantage obediently. “You’ll be happy when you end in gaol, I dare say, but I won’t, and that’s the truth! Oh well! Be off with you, missie, and trust old Silas!”