Charlotte opined darkly that no good would come of Horatia's scandalously contrived marriage.

But Charlotte was alone in her pessimism. A radiant Mr Heron, fervently grasping both Horatia's hands, thanked her from the heart, and wished her happiness. Mr Heron had had the honour of meeting Lord Rule at an extremely select soiree in South Street, and his lordship had roused himself to take the young man aside and talk to him of his future. Mr Heron had no hesitation in declaring the Earl to be a very good sort of a man indeed, and no further remarks concerning his reputation or his advanced years were heard to pa.s.s his lips. Elizabeth, too, who had been forced to nerve herself to meet her erstwhile suitor, found the ordeal shorn of its terrors. My lord kissed her hand, and as he released it said with his slight, not unpleasing drawl: 'May I hope, Miss Winwood, that I am no longer an ogre?'

Elizabeth blushed, and hung her head. 'Oh - Horry!' she sighed, a smile trembling on her lips. 'Indeed, my lord, you were never that.'

'But I owe you an apology, ma'am,' he said solemnly, 'for I made you "dreadfully unhappy".'

'If we are to talk of apologies, sir-! You, who have been all kindness!' She lifted her eyes to his face, and tried to thank him for what he would do for Mr Heron.

Apparently he did not choose to be thanked; he put it aside with his lazy laugh, and somehow she could not go on. He stayed by her for a few minutes, and she had leisure to observe him. Later she told Mr Heron seriously that she thought Horry might be very happy.

'Horry is happy,' replied Mr Heron, with a chuckle.

'Ah yes, but you see, dearest, Horry is only a child. I feel -I feel anxiety, I won't conceal from you. Lord Rule is not a child.' She puckered her brow. 'Horry does such things! If he will only be gentle with her, and patient!'

'Why, love,' said Mr Heron, humouring her, 'I don't think you need to put yourself about. His lordship is all gentleness, and I don't doubt will have patience enough.'

'All gentleness,' she repeated. 'Indeed he is, and yet - do you know, Edward, I think I might be afraid of him? Sometimes, if you do but notice, he has a trick of closing his lips that gives to the whole face an air of -I must say inflexibility, quite foreign to what one knows of him. But if he will only come to love Horry!'

No one but Miss Winwood was inclined to indulge in such i questionings, least of all Lady Winwood basking in the envy of her acquaintance. Everyone was anxious to felicitate her; everyone knew what a triumph was hers. Even Mr Walpole, who was staying in Arlington Street at the time, came to pay her a morning visit, and to glean a few details. Mr Walpole's face wore an approving smile, though he regretted that his G.o.d-daughter should be marrying a Tory. But then Mr Walpole was so very earnest a Whig, and even he seemed to think that Lady Winwood was right to disregard Rule's political opinions. He set the tips of his fingers together, crossing one dove-silk stockinged leg over the other, and listened with his well-bred air to all Lady Winwood had to say.

She had a great value for Mr Walpole, whom she had known for many years, but she was careful in what she told him. No one had a kinder heart than this thin, percipient gentleman, but he had a sharp nose for a morsel of scandal, and a satiric pen.

Let him but get wind of Horatia's escapade, and my Lady Ossory and my Lady Aylesbury would have the story by the next post.

Fortunately, the rumour of Rule's offer for Elizabeth had not reached Twickenham, and beyond wondering that Lady Winwood should care to see Horatia married before the divine Elizabeth (who was quite his favourite), he said nothing to put an anxious mother on her guard. So Lady Winwood told him confidentially that, although nothing was yet to be declared, Elizabeth too was to leave the nest. Mr Walpole was all interest, but pursed his lips a little when he heard about Mr Edward Heron. To be sure, of good family (trust Mr Walpole to know that!), but he could have wished for someone of greater consequence for his little Lizzie. Mr Walpole did so like to see his young friends make good matches. Indeed, his satisfaction at Horatia's betrothal made him forget a certain disastrous day at Twickenham when Horatia had shown herself quite unworthy of having the glories of his little Gothic Castle exhibited to her, and he patted her hand, and said that she must come and drink a syllabub at Strawberry quite soon.

Horatia, under oath not to be farouche ('for he may be rising sixty, my love, and live secluded, but there's no one whose good opinion counts for more'), thanked him demurely, and hoped that she would not be expected to admire and fondle his horrid little dog, Rosette, who was odiously spoiled, and yapped at one's heels.

Mr Walpole said that she was very young to contemplate matrimony, and Lady Winwood sighed that alas, it was true: she was losing her darling before she had even been to Court.

That was an unwise remark, because it gave Mr Walpole an opportunity for recounting, as he was very fond of doing, how his father had taken him to kiss George the First's hand when he was a child. Horatia slipped out while he was in the middle of his anecdote, leaving her Mama to a.s.sume an expression of spurious interest.

In quite another quarter, though topographically hardly a stone's throw from South Street, the news of Rule's betrothal created different sensations. There was a slim house in Hertford Street where a handsome widow held her court, but it was not at all the sort of establishment that Lady Winwood visited. Caroline Ma.s.sey, relict of a wealthy tradesman, had achieved her position in the Polite World by dint of burying the late Sir Thomas's connexion with the City in decent oblivion, and relying upon her own respectable birth and very considerable good looks. Sir Thomas's fortune, though so discreditably acquired, was also useful. It enabled his widow to live in a very pretty house in the best part of town, to entertain in a lavish and agreeable fashion, and to procure the sponsorship of a Patroness who was easy-going enough to introduce her into Society. The offices of this Patroness had long ceased to be necessary to Lady Ma.s.sey. In some way, best known (said various indignant ladies) to herself, she had contrived to become a Personage. One was for ever meeting her, and if a few doors remained obstinately closed against her, she had a sufficient following for this not to signify. That the following consisted largely of men was not likely to trouble her; she was not a woman who craved female companionship, though a faded and resigned lady, who was believed to be her cousin, constantly resided with her. Miss Janet's presence was a sop thrown to the conventions. Yet, to do them justice, it was not Lady Ma.s.sey's morals that stuck in the gullets of certain aristocratic dames. Everyone had their own affaires, and if gossip whispered of intimacies between the fair Ma.s.sey and Lord Rule, as long as the lady conducted her amorous pa.s.sages with discretion only such rigid moralists as Lady Winwood would throw up hands of horror. It was the fatal taint of the City that would always exclude Lady Ma.s.sey from the innermost circle of Fashion. She was not bon ton. It was said without rancour, even with a pitying shrug of well-bred shoulders, but it was d.a.m.ning. Lady Ma.s.sey, aware of it, never betrayed by word or look that she was conscious of that almost indefinable bar, and not even the resigned cousin knew that to become one of the Select was almost an obsession with her.

There was only one person who guessed, and he seemed to derive a certain sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt from it. Robert, Baron Lethbridge, could usually derive amus.e.m.e.nt from the frailty of his fellows.

Upon an evening two days after the Earl of Rule's second visit to the Winwood establishment, Lady Ma.s.sey held a card-party in Hertford Street. These parties were always well attended, for one might be sure of deep play, and a charming hostess, whose cellar (thanks to the ungenteel but knowledgeable Sir Thomas) was excellently stocked.

The saloon upon the first floor was a charming apartment, and set off its mistress to advantage. She had lately purchased some very pretty pieces of gilt furniture in Paris, and had had all her old hangings pulled down, and new ones of straw-coloured silk put in their place, so that the room, which had before been rose-pink, now glowed palely yellow. She herself wore a gown of silk brocade with great panniers, and an underskirt looped with embroidered garlands. Her hair was dressed high in a pouf au sentiment, with curled feathers for which she had paid fifty louis apiece at Bertin's, and scented roses, placed artlessly here and there in the powdered erection.

This coiffure had been the object of several aspiring ladies'

envy, and had put Mrs Montague-Damer quite out of countenance. She too had acquired a French fashion, and had expected to have it much admired. But the exquisite pouf au sentiment made her own chien couchant look rather ridiculous, and quite spoiled her evening's enjoyment.

The gathering in the saloon was a modish one; dowdy persons had no place in Lady Ma.s.sey's house, though she could welcome such freaks as the Lady Amelia Pridham, that grossly fat and free-spoken dame in the blonde satin who was even now arranging her rouleaus in front of her. There were those who wondered that the Lady Amelia should care to visit in Hertford Street, but the Lady Amelia, besides being of an extreme good nature, would go to any house where she could be sure of deep ba.s.set.

Ba.s.set was the game of the evening, and some fifteen people were seated at the big round table. It was when Lord Lethbridge held the bank that he chose to make his startling announcement. As he paid on the couch he said with a faintly malicious note in his voice: 'I don't see Rule tonight. No doubt the bridegroom-elect dances attendance in South Street.'

Opposite him, Lady Ma.s.sey quickly looked up from the cards in front of her, but she did not say anything.

A Macaroni, with an enormous ladder-toupet covered in blue hair-powder, and a thin, unhealthily sallow countenance, cried out: 'What's that?'

Lord Lethbridge's hard hazel eyes lingered for a moment on Lady Ma.s.sey's face. Then he turned slightly to look at the startled Macaroni. He said smilingly: 'Do you tell me I am before you with the news, Crosby? I thought you of all people must have known.' His satin-clad arm lay on the table, the pack of cards clasped in his white hand. The light of the candles in the huge chandelier over the table caught the jewels in the lace at his throat, and made his eyes glitter queerly.

'What are you talking about?' demanded the Macaroni, half rising from his seat.

'But Rule, my dear Crosby!' said Lethbridge. 'Your cousin Rule, you know.'

'What of Rule?' inquired the Lady Amelia, regretfully pushing one of her rouleaus across the table.

Lethbridge's glance flickered to Lady Ma.s.sey's face again.

'Why, only that he is about to enter the married state,' he replied.

There was a stir of interest. Someone said 'Good G.o.d, I thought he was safe to stay single! Well, upon my soul! Who's the fortunate fair one, Lethbridge?'

'The fortunate fair one is the youngest Miss Winwood,' said Lethbridge. 'A romance, you perceive. I believe she is not out of the schoolroom.'

The Macaroni, Mr Crosby Drelincourt, mechanically straightened the preposterous bow he wore in place of a cravat.

'Pho, it is a tale!' he said uneasily. 'Where had you it?'

Lethbridge raised his thin, rather slanting brows. 'Oh, I had it from the little Maulfrey. It will be in the Gazette by tomorrow.'

'Well, it's very interesting,' said a portly gentleman in claret velvet, 'but the game, Lethbridge, the game!'

'The game,' bowed his lordship, and sent a glance round at the cards on the table.

Lady Ma.s.sey, who had won the couch, suddenly put out her hand and nicked the corner of the Queen that lay before her.

'Paroli!' she said in a quick, unsteady voice.

Lethbridge turned up two cards, and sent her a mocking look. 'Ace wins, Queen loses,' he said. 'Your luck is quite out, my lady.'

She gave a little laugh. 'I a.s.sure you I don't regard it. Lose tonight, win tomorrow. It goes up and down.'

The game proceeded. It was not until later when the company stood about in little chatting groups, partaking of very excellent refreshments, that Rule's betrothal was remembered. It was Lady Amelia, rolling up to Lethbridge, with a gla.s.s of hot negus in one hand and a sweet biscuit in the other, who said in her downright way: 'You're a dog, Lethbridge. What possessed you to hop out with that, man?'

'Why not?' said his lordship coolly. 'I thought you would all be interested.'

Lady Amelia finished her negus, and looked across the room towards her hostess. 'Diverting,' she commented. 'Did she think to get Rule?'

Lethbridge shrugged. 'Why do you ask me? I'm not in the lady's confidence.'

'H'm! You've a trick of knowing things, Lethbridge. Silly creature. Rule's not such a fool.' Her cynical eye wandered in search of Mr Drelincourt, and presently found him, standing apart, and pulling at his underlip. She chuckled. 'Took it badly, eh?'

Lord Lethbridge followed the direction of her gaze.

'Confess, I've afforded you some amus.e.m.e.nt, my lady.'

'Lord, you're like a gnat, my dear man.' She became aware of little Mr Paget inquisitively at her elbow, and dug at his ribs with her fan. 'What do you give for Crosby's chances now?'

Mr Paget t.i.ttered. 'Or our fair hostess's, ma'am!'

She gave a shrug of her large white shoulders. 'Oh, if you want to pry into the silly woman's affairs-!' she said, and moved away.

Mr Paget transferred his attention to Lord Lethbridge.

"'Pon my soul, my lord, I'll swear she went white under the rouge!' Lethbridge took snuff. 'Cruel of you, my lord, 'pon my soul it was!'

'Do you think so?' said his lordship with almost dulcet sweetness.

'Oh, positively, sir, positively! Not a doubt she had hopes of Rule. But it would never do, you know. I believe his lordship to be excessively proud.'

'Excessively,' said Lethbridge, with so much dryness in his voice that Mr Paget had an uncomfortable feeling that he had said something inopportune.

He was so obsessed by this notion that he presently confided the interchange to Sir Marmaduke Hoban, who gave a snort of laughter and said: 'd.a.m.ned inopportune!' and walked off to replenish his gla.s.s.

Mr Crosby Drelincourt, cousin and heir-presumptive to my Lord of Rule, seemed disinclined to discuss the news. He left the party early, and went home to his lodging in Jermyn Street, a prey to the gloomiest forebodings.

He pa.s.sed an indifferent night, and awoke finally at an uncommonly early hour, and demanded the London Gazette.

His valet brought it with the cup of chocolate with which it was Mr Drelincourt's habit to regale himself on first waking.

Mr Drelincourt seized the journal and spread it open with agitated fingers. The announcement glared at him in incontrovertible print.

Mr Drelincourt looked at it in a kind of daze, his nightcap over one eye.

'Your chocolate, sir,' said his valet disinterestedly.

Mr Drelincourt was roused out of his momentary stupor.

'Take the d.a.m.ned stuff away!' he shouted, and flung the Gazette down. 'I am getting up!'

'Yes, sir. Will you wear the blue morning habit?'

Mr Drelincourt swore at him.

The valet, accustomed to Mr Drelincourt's temper, remained unmoved, but found an opportunity while his master was pulling on his stockings to peep into the Gazette. What he saw brought a faint, sour smile to his lips. He went away to prepare a razor with which to shave Mr Drelincourt.

The news had shocked Mr Drelincourt deeply, but habit was strong, and by the time he had been shaved he had recovered sufficient mastery over himself to take an interest in the all-important question of his dress. The result of the care he bestowed upon his person was certainly startling. When he was at last ready to sally forth into the street he wore a blue coat with long tails and enormous silver b.u.t.tons, over a very short waistcoat, and a pair of striped breeches clipped at the knee with rosettes. A bow served him for cravat, his stockings were of silk, his shoes had silver buckles and heels so high that he was obliged to mince along; his wig was brushed up en herisson to a point in the front, curled in pigeons' wings over the ears, and brought down at the back into a queue confined in a black silk bag. A little round hat surmounted this structure, and to complete his toilet he had a number of fobs and seals, and carried a long, clouded cane embellished with ta.s.sels.

Although the morning was a fine one Mr Drelincourt hailed a chair, and gave the address of his cousin's house in Grosvenor Square. He entered the sedan carefully, bending his head to avoid brushing his toupet against the roof; the men picked up the poles, and set off northwards with their exquisite burden.

Upon his arrival in Grosvenor Square Mr Drelincourt paid off the chairmen and tripped up the steps to the great door of Rule's house. He was admitted by the porter, .who looked as though he would have liked to have shut the door in the visitor's painted face. Mr Drelincourt was no favourite with Rule's household, but being in some sort a privileged person he came and went very much as he pleased. The porter told him that my lord was still at breakfast, but Mr Drelincourt waved this piece of information aside with an airy gesture of one lily-white hand. The porter handed him over to a footman, and reflected with satisfaction that that was a nose put well out of joint.

Mr Drelincourt rarely waited upon his cousin without letting his gaze rest appreciatively on the fine proportions of his rooms, and the elegance of their appointments. He had come to regard Rule's possessions in some sort as his own, and he could never enter his house without thinking of the day when it would belong to him. Today, however, he was easily able to refrain from the indulgence of his dream, and he followed the footman to a small breakfast-room at the back of the house with nothing in his head but a sense of deep injury.

My lord, in a dressing-gown of brocaded silk, was seated at the table with a tankard and a sirloin before him. His secretary was also present, apparently attempting to cope with a number of invitations for his lordship, for as Mr Drelincourt strutted in he said despairingly: 'But, sir, you must surely remember that you are promised to her Grace of Bedford tonight!'

'I wish,' said Rule plaintively, 'that you would rid yourself of that notion, my dear Arnold. I cannot imagine where you had it. I never remember anything disagreeable. Good-morning, Crosby.' He put up his gla.s.s the better to observe the letters in Mr Gisborne's hand. 'The one on the pink paper, Arnold. I have a great predilection for the one writ on pink paper. What is it?'

'A card-party at Mrs Wallchester's, sir,' said Mr Gisborne in a voice of disapproval.

'My instinct is never at fault,' said his lordship. 'The pink one it shall be. Crosby, really there is no need for you to stand.

Have you come to breakfast? Oh, don't go, Arnold, don't go.'

'If you please, Rule, I wish to be private with you,' said Mr Drelincourt, who had favoured the secretary with the smallest of bows.

'Don't be shy, Crosby,' said his lordship kindly. 'If it's money Arnold is bound to know all about it.'

'It is not,' said Mr Drelincourt, much annoyed.

'Permit me, sir,' said Mr Gisborne, moving to the door.

Mr Drelincourt put down his hat and his cane, and drew out a chair from the table. 'Not breakfast, no!' he said a little peevishly.

The Earl surveyed him patiently. 'Well, what is it now, Crosby?' he inquired.

'I came to,' said Mr Drelincourt, 'I came to speak to you about this - this betrothal.'

'There's nothing private about that,' observed Rule, addressing himself to the cold roast beef.

'No, indeed!' said Crosby, with a hint of indignation in his voice. 'I suppose it is true?'

'Oh, quite true,' said his lordship. 'You may safely felicitate me, my dear Crosby.'

'As to that - why, certainly! Certainly, I wish you very happy,' said Crosby, put out. 'But you never spoke a word of it to me. It takes me quite by surprise. I must think it extremely odd, cousin, considering the singular nature of our relationship.'

'The-?' My lord seemed puzzled.

'Come, Rule, come! As your heir I might be supposed to have some claim to be apprised of your intentions.'

'Accept my apologies,' said his lordship. 'Are you sure you won't have some breakfast, Crosby? You do not look at all the thing, my dear fellow. In fact, I should almost feel inclined to recommend another hair powder than this blue you affect. A charming tint, Crosby: you must not think I don't admire it, but its reflected pallor upon your countenance-'

'If I seem pale, cousin, you should rather blame the extraordinary announcement in today's Gazette. It has given me a shock; I shan't deny it has given me a shock.'

'But, Crosby,' said his lordship plaintively, 'were you really sure that you would outlive me?'

'In the course of nature I might expect to,' replied Mr Drelincourt, too much absorbed in his disappointment to consider his words. 'I can give you ten years, you must remember.'

Rule shook his head. 'I don't think you should build on it,'

he said. 'I come of distressingly healthy stock, you know.'