It seemed so strange that a man who judged the worth of a picture by its size, and furnished his house with vulgar opulence, should not only collect china but distinguish instinctively between the good and bad, that Adam’s interest was caught. He tried to lure Mr Chawleigh on to talk about his hobby, but no sooner did that gentleman perceive that his daughter had retired into the background than he broke off, and said, as he restored to the cabinet a graceful Capo di Monte group: “Well, I don’t know why I’ve a liking for these things, and that’s a fact! It’s my Jenny you should talk to, if you want to know about ’em: she’s got book-learning, which I never had.”

“I don’t think Miss Chawleigh will be offended, sir, if I venture to say that you have something of more worth than book-learning.”

“No, for it is very true,” she said at once. “I learned about china to please Papa, but I am not myself of an artistic disposition.”

“Oh, Miss Chawleigh, how can you say so?” exclaimed the faithful Mrs Quarley-Bix. “When I think of the charming sketches you have done, your embroidery, your musical talent — ”

“Now, that does put me in mind of something!” interrupted Mr Chawleigh. “I want to show his lordship the perspective drawing Jenny did of the Square! Do you come down to the library, ma’am, and help me to look for it!”

To her credit, Mrs Quarley-Bix did her best to combat this blatant attempt to leave the young couple alone; but not all her assurances that Mr Chawleigh would find the sketch in a certain portfolio availed to turn him from his purpose. His Juggernaut quality came to the fore; and in a very few minutes he had succeeded in sweeping the reluctant lady out of the room, saying, with obvious mendacity, that both she and he would be back in a trice.

The situation was awkward, and was not rendered less so by Miss Chawleigh’s embarrassment. It rendered her scarlet-faced and tongue-tied; and when Adam made some light remark to bridge the awkward moment she did not respond, but, raising her eyes to his face in a stricken look, blurted out: “I’m sorry!” before turning away, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks.

For a moment his only feeling was one of vexation with her for having so little address. She had only to respond to his lead, and the situation could have been carried off. Her look of consciousness, the words she had uttered, even the hasty way she turned from him, made this impossible. Had she not been so unmistakably distressed he could almost have suspected her of trying to force his hand.

She had walked away to the fire, and after a struggle to regain her composure, she said: “It is — it is the greatest imposition to be obliged to admire my drawings: and to have them displayed to visitors — is what I particularly dislike! But Papa — You see, nothing will deter him! I — I am so sorry!”

He recognized a gallant, if belated, attempt to pass the thing off, and his vexation died. He hesitated, and then said: “Miss Chawleigh, would you prefer me to agree that it is a sore trial to have one’s sketches shown-off, or — or to say, quite frankly, that I don’t think any two persons can ever have found themselves in such an embarrassing fix as

“Oh, no! so mortifying!” she said, in a stifled voice. “I didn’t know that — that Papa had the intention — tonight — so soon — !”

“Nor I, indeed! But he has done it, and it would be foolish in either of us, don’t you think? to pretend not to understand why we have been pitchforked together.” He saw her nod; and continued, not easily, but with a good deal of earnestness: “I wish you will be open with me. Your father is trying to make a match between us, but you don’t like it, do you? You needn’t be afraid of telling me so: how should you like it, when we are barely acquainted? My fear is that you have been compelled to entertain me tonight against your wish. Believe me, you have only to tell me that this is soand the affair shall go no further!”

This frankness steadied her. She had been standing with her back to him, looking down into the fire, but she turned now, and replied, in a low tone: “I wasn’t compelled. Papa wouldn’t do so. I know it must appear — and he does like to rule the roost — but he is too fond of me to constrain me, and — and too kind, even though he may seem, sometimes, a little overbearing.”

He smiled. “Yes, a benevolent despot, which is, perhaps, the worst sort of tyrant, because the hardest to withstand! Where all is being done with the best of intentions — and by a parent, to whom one must owe obedience — it seems almost monstrous to rebel!”

Her flush had faded; she was even rather pale. “I should be reluctant to do so, but if it were necessary, in such a matter as this, I — I should rebel. That’s not the case. He wishes me to marry you, my lord: he doesn’t compel me.”

There was a faint frown on his brow; he regarded her intently, trying to read her face. “The tyranny of affection?”

She shook her head. “No. It would grieve me to disappoint him, but I shouldn’t hesitate, if — if my affections were already engaged, or I disliked the scheme.” This was spoken calmly, but with an effort. She moved towards a chair, and sat down. “You asked me to be open with you, my lord. I don’t dislike it. If you think — if you feel you could bear — ”

She checked, and went on after a tiny pause. “I’m not romantic. I perfectly understand the — the circumstances, and don’t expect — You said yourself that we are barely acquainted.”

He was obliged to master an impulse to retreat, and to tell himself that her acceptance of the proposed match was no more cold-blooded than his own. He was quite as pale as she, and he replied, in a strained voice: “Miss Chawleigh, if you feel that you could bear it I shall count myself fortunate. I won’t offer you false coin. To make the sort of protestations natural to this occasion, would be to insult you, but you may believe me sincere when I say that if you do me the honour to marry me I shall try to make you happy.”

She got up. “I shall be. Don’t think of that! I don’t wish you to try to — Only to be comfortable! I hope I can make you so: I’ll do my best. And you’ll tell me what you wish me to do — or if I do something you don’t like — won’t you?”

He was surprised, and a little touched, but he said, as he took her hand: “Yes, indeed! Whenever I’m out of temper, or grow tired of being comfortable!”

She stared for a second, saw the quizzical look in his eyes, and laughed suddenly. “Oh — ! No, I promise you I won’t get into a miff!”

He kissed her hand, and then, lightly, her cheek. She did not shrink, but she did not look as though she liked it And since he had no desire to kiss her, he let go her hand, not offended, but relieved.

Chapter V

the engagement was almost immediately announced, and the wedding-day fixed for a month later, on the 20th April. Whether from impatience to see his daughter ennobled, or from fear that Adam might cry off, Mr Chawleigh was anxious to clinch the bargain, and was with difficulty restrained from sending off notices then and there to the Gazette and the Morning Post, He said in a burst of unendearing frankness that the sooner the news were made public the better it would be for Adam; but he was forced to acknowledge that it would be improper to advertize the marriage before Adam had broken the news of it to his family.

Another set-back was in store for him. In the midst of his plans for a wedding exceeding in magnificence any that had ever preceded it he was pulled up by a gentle reminder that the recent bereavement suffered by his prospective son-in-law put out of count any such schemes: the ceremony, Adam said, must be private, with only the immediate relations and particular friends of both parties invited to attend it. This was a severe blow, and might have led to a battle of wills had not Jenny intervened, saying in her downright way: “Now, that’s enough, Papa! It wouldn’t be the thing!”

In other quarters the intelligence was received in widely divergent ways. Lord Oversley said he was damned glad to hear it; and Lady Oversley burst into tears. Wimmering, momentarily stunned, recovered to congratulate his patron, and to beg him to leave all financial arrangements in his hands. Like Mrs Quarley-Bix he was filled with delight, the only leaven to his joy being Adam’s resolve to continue in his plan to sell the town house. To representations that now more than ever would he need a town house he replied that he had the intention of hiring one of more modest dimensions than the mansion in Grosvenor Street; to the warning that a hired place could not be thought creditable, he merely said: “What nonsense!”

Adam communicated the news of his betrothal to Lady Lynton by letter, making business his excuse for not returning to Fontley. He could not bring himself to face the inevitable astonishment, the questions, and, perhaps, the disapproval that must greet his announcement; and he knew himself to be unequal to the task of describing Mr Chawleigh by word of mouth. He could write that he was a wealthy merchant, with whom Lord Oversley was on terms of friendship; and Lady Lynton would not know, reading of Jenny’s quiet manners, superior understanding, and well-formed figure, that these fluent phrases had not tripped readily from his pen. He ended his letter by begging his mother to come to London, to make the acquaintance of her future daughter-in-law, but thought it advisable to send by the same post a brief and much more forthright letter to his elder sister.

“Charlotte, I depend upon you to bring Mama to town. Represent to her how improper it would be for her to be backward in any attention: the ceremonial visit must be made. If she holds by her intention to settle in Bath I should wish her to decide which of the furnishings in Lynton House she desires for her own use, which can’t be settled in her absence. Tell her this, if she should fly into one of her ways.”