“No, he doesn’t,” said Jenny decidedly. “Well, I don’t think he believes she broke her heart over Adam. And he don’t care because he understands her, and doesn’t set a bit of store by it when she flies into one of her ways. Depend upon it, he’ll know how to make her happy!”

“That’s what he told Oversley. I don’t know, and I cannot likehis being a widower! Such a dispiriting thing, setting aside the children, which, of course, one can’t do!”

“Good gracious, has he got children!” exclaimed Jenny.

“Two little girls — though why I say little when the elder is twelve years of age — ! When I think of my poor Julia, scarcely more than a child herself, trying to be a mother to two great daughters-in-law, who will very likely detest her — ”

“Not they! They’ll adore her!” said Jenny. “Just like all the younger ones did, at Miss Satterleigh’s. I’ll lay my life they’ll be quarrelling over which of them is to have the pleasure of running an errand for her by the time she’s been married a month!”

This reflection made Lady Oversley feel rather more cheerful, and she was able, before she left Jenny, to turn her thoughts towards the Dress-party she was holding in honour of the engagement. It was going to be a splendid function, following a dinner-party to which she was inviting as many of Rockhill’s relations as she could squeeze round her table. As these were extremely numerous, she looked forward to seeing her house crammed to bursting-point: a gratifying state of affairs which yet could not quite compensate her for what she called the peculiar nature of the gathering. “For in general, you know, it is the bridegroom’s parents who are the guests of the greatest consequence, but of course Rockhill has none, and when one considers that it is he who is the head of the Edgcott family it is absurd to suppose that one can fall back on his uncle Aubrey! And I must say, Jenny, that although I do his sister Warlingham the justice to own that she has written Julia a very pretty letter, she isyears older than I am, which is another thing I cannot like!”

The intelligence that all Rockhill’s relations were being invited to celebrate his engagement afforded Jenny a satisfaction she did not disclose, and precluded her from feeling any surprise when she received a visit from Brough.

She and Lydia were alone, a circumstance which his lordship bore with noble equanimity. Jenny saw how his lazy eyes lit up when they fell on Lydia, and hoped that in extending a welcome to her husband’s friend she might not be held to have encouraged his courtship.

Lydia was unaffectedly glad to see him, exclaiming, as she held out her hand to him: “Brough! Well, what a surprise! You didn’t think to find me here, did you? Adam fetched me, to bear Jenny company: isn’t it famous?”

Yes, Brough thought it the most famous thing that had ever happened; and although he said nothing that went beyond the line of the strictest propriety it seemed very unlikely that he would post back to Leicestershire quite as soon as had been his original intention.

He had come to town, as Jenny had expected, to attend the Oversleys’ party. He was himself related to Rockhill through his mother, but he said that the Edgcotts were nearly all of the opinion that Rockhill had run mad. “Which is what brought me up to town,” he explained. “M’mother thought most of ’em would excuse themselves from attending the party: took it into her head that Rock would need support. All humdudgeon! wouldn’t dare offend Rock, any of ’em! Though they tell me poor old Aubrey Edgcott is as sulky as bear: made sure he was going to step into Rock’s shoes one day!”

Brough regarded the alliance with a tolerant eye, but said, in a manner very unflattering to the lovely Miss Oversley, that one man’s meat was another man’s poison, “Shouldn’t like to be married to her myself,” he said.

“Now, you can’t deny she’ll make a beautiful Marchioness!” expostulated Jenny.

“Oh, lord, no! I dare say she’ll cut an excellent dash, but she ain’t my notion of a comfortable wife. Never any saying where you’ll find her! might leave her up in the attics, and come home to find her in the cellar. None of my business, however. Where’s Adam, Lady Lynton? I didn’t see him in the club.”

“No, he has gone down to Fontley for a few days,” she replied.

He nodded, making no comment; but when she rather reprehensibly left him alone with Lydia presently, he cocked one mobile eyebrow at that damsel, saying: “Lynton taking this business ill?”

She heaved a despondent sigh. “Yes, I think he is. He said he had been meaning to go to Fontley this age past, but didn’t like to leave Jenny alone, but I think he went because he couldn’t bear to hear everyone discussing the betrothal wherever he went.”

“Very sensible thing to do,” said Brough. “Wouldn’t do to say so, of course, but it’s my belief he’s well out of that affair. Pity he didn’t take her ladyship with him, and keep her there! She don’t look to be in very plump currant.”

“She isn’t, and I wish he would take her home, for it’s where she wants to be,” said Lydia. “Only Papa Chawleigh is in one of his grand fusses, and thinks she can’t be well anywhere but in London, which, for my part, I think a great piece of nonsense. I told Adam so, but of course he doesn’t heed what I say, because he doesn’t think I know anything about it. Which,” she added fairly, “is perfectly true. But I do know that Jenny is pining to go back to Fontley.”

Adam might not listen to his sister’s advice, but fortunately for Jenny Lady Nassington took a hand in the affair. On her way to spend several weeks with her eldest married daughter in Sussex, she paused in London for a few days, and called at Lynton House one bleak morning to find Jenny recovering from a fainting-fit in the morning-room, with Lydia and Martha Pinhoe in anxious attendance, and the atmosphere redolent of burnt feathers and aromatic salts.

“Upon my word!” uttered her ladyship, pausing on the threshold, and surveying the scene with strong displeasure. “Pray, what is the meaning of this?”

“Good gracious, ma’am, how you startled me!” exclaimed Lydia. “I didn’t know you were in London! Jenny felt very faint suddenly, but she’s better now.”

Jenny, pulling herself up, said huskily: “It’s nothing — so stupid — I never did such a thing before! I’m breeding, ma’am!”

“So I perceive,” said her ladyship. “But as for fainting because of it, nonsense! I collect you’ve been quacking yourself: I thought you had more common sense!”

Lydia was inclined to be indignant, but she soon realized that in her formidable aunt she had found a powerful ally. Lady Nassington first administered a dose of hartshorn and water to Jenny, and then demanded to be told why she was racketing about town instead of living peacefully in the country. When she had been put in possession of the facts, she condemned in round terms every person who had been concerned in them, and alarmed Jenny by saying that she would speak to Mr Chawleigh herself. Even Lydia felt that this might be going too far, but after thinking it over in majestic silence for a few moments Lady Nassington decided that before she did anything else it would be proper to consult Adam, so when Adam came in, some time later, it was to be met by the intelligence that his aunt wished him to call at Nassington House on the following morning, and by an entreaty from Jenny not to allow her to give Mr Chawleigh the promised piece of her mind.

Far from being dismayed by the graphic account of Lady Nassington’s visit, supplied by Lydia, his brow lightened, and he said: “I never thought I should live to be glad Aunt Nassington had come to town! To be sure I’ll go to see her!”

“Well, it’s only right to warn you, my dearest brother, that she will very likely give you a piece of her mind!”

Even that failed to strike terror into his heart; he only laughed, and said that at least she could not eat him, however much she might scold him.

But although she told him that he had been behaving like a gaby, she did not scold, possibly because he said, as soon as he had dutifully kissed her hand: “You can’t think how thankful I am to see you, ma’am! I need advice, as I daresay you’ve guessed, and I’ve a notion I shall get better from you than from anyone else. You’ve seen for yourself how very far from well Jenny is. I don’t know whether she told you about the treatment she’s undergoing?”

“She did,” responded her ladyship grimly. “I have no patience with such nonsense! Tea and toast indeed! A fine state of affairs when a healthy young woman is brought so low that she falls into fainting-fits! Between you all, she’s begun to fancy herself an invalid. I am not acquainted with Croft, but I have no opinion of him: none at all! I do not approve of newfangled ideas. My advice to you, my dear Lynton, is to remove Jenny to Fontley immediately. Let her busy herself with bringing the Priory back into order, which I judge her to be well capable of doing. That, I assure you, will be very much better for her than to sit moping in Grosvenor Street, with nothing to do but to wonder if she’ll die in childbed, like her mother! A pretty notion to have put into her head! When I see her ridiculous father I shall have something to say to him upon that score, I promise you!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling a little. “I don’t doubt it! But there will be no occasion for you to see him. If I decide to follow your advice, I’ll tell him myself. I own, I’m strongly tempted to do so. I believe Jenny would be better at Fontley. But — ” He paused, and then said worriedly: “I think I ought to get another doctor to her before taking such a step. Croft wishes to keep her under his eye — hints at all manner of complications. I haven’t the knowledge to judge the case myself; I can’t even say that she was well before we came back to town: she has been unwell from the outset — though I thought she seemed to be going on a degree more prosperously at Fontley. I agree that it was a thousand pities Mr Chawleigh should have alarmed her with his forebodings, but how can I brush them aside on nothing but your advice, aunt, and my own wholly unskilled judgment? If she were to be taken suddenly ill — ? If she were to endure a difficult labour — ?”