“And I shall send Mr. Beaumaris a card, because it would be such a splendid thing for you, my love, if it were known that he came to your debut—for such we may call it! Why, if he were to come, and perhaps talk to you for a few minutes, and seem pleased with you, you would be made, my dear! Everyone follows his lead! And perhaps, as there are so few parties yet, he might come! I am sure I have been acquainted with him for years, and I knew his mother quite well! She was Lady Mary Caldicot, you know: a daughter of the late Duke of Wigan, and such a beautiful creature! And it is not as though Mr. Beaumaris has never been to my house, for he once came to an Assembly here, and stayed for quite half-an-hour! Mind, we must not build upon his accepting, but we need not despair!”

She paused for breath, and Arabella, colouring in spite of herself, was able at last to say: “I—I am myself a little acquainted with Mr. Beaumaris, ma’am.”

Lady Bridlington was so much astonished that she dropped her pencil. “Acquainted with Mr. Beaumaris?” she repeated. “My love, what can you be thinking about? When can you possibly have met him?”

“I—I quite forgot to tell you, ma’am,” faltered Arabella unhappily, “that when the pole broke—I told you that!—Miss Blackburn and I sought shelter in his hunting-box, and—and he had Lord Fleetwood with him, and we stayed to dine!”

Lady Bridlington gasped. “Good God, Arabella, and you never told me! Mr. Beaumaris’s house! He actually asked you to dine, and you never breathed a word of it to me!”

Arabella found herself quite incapable of explaining why she had been shy of mentioning this episode. She stammered that it had slipped out of her mind in all the excitement of coming to London.

“Slipped out of your mind?” exclaimed Lady Bridlington. “You dine with Mr. Beaumaris, and at his hunting-box, too, and then talk to me about the excitement of coming to London? Good gracious, child—But, there, you are such a country-mouse, my love, I daresay you did not know all it might mean to you! Did he seem pleased? Did he like you?”

This was a little too much, even for a young lady determined to be on her best behaviour. “I daresay he disliked me excessively, ma’am, for I thought him very proud and disagreeable, and I hope you won’t ask him to your party on my account!”

“Not ask him to my party, when, if he came to it, everyone would say it was a success! You must be mad, Arabella, to talk so! And do let me beg of you, my dear, never to say such a thing of Mr. Beaumaris in public! I daresay he may be a little stiff, but what is that to the purpose, pray? There is no one who counts for more in society, for setting aside his fortune, which is immense, my love, he is related to half the houses in England! The Beaumarises are one of the oldest of our families, while on his mother’s side he is a grandson of the Duchess of Wigan—the Dowager Duchess, I mean, which of course makes him cousin to the present Duke, besides the Wainfleets, and—But you would not know!” she ended despairingly.

“I thought Lord Fleetwood most amiable, and gentlemanlike,” offered Arabella, by way of palliative.

“Fleetwood! I can tell you this, Arabella: there is no use in your setting your cap at him, for all the world knows that he must marry money!”

“I hope, ma’am,” cried Arabella, flaring up, “that you do not mean to suggest that I should set my cap at Mr. Beaumaris, for nothing would prevail upon me to do so!”

“My love,” responded Lady Bridlington frankly, “it would be quite useless for you to do so! Robert Beaumaris may have his pick of all the beauties in England, I daresay! And, what is more, he is the most accomplished flirt in London! But I do most earnestly implore you not to set him against you by treating him with the least incivility! You may think him what you please, but, believe me, Arabella, he could rain your whole career—and mine, too, if it came to that!” she added feelingly.

Arabella propped her chin in her hand, pondering an agreeable thought. “Or he could make everything easy for me, ma’am?” she enquired.

“Of course he could—if he chose to do it! He is the most unpredictable creature! It might amuse him to make you the rage of town—or he might take it into his head to say you were not quite in his style—and if once he says that, my dear, what man will look twice at you, unless he has already fallen in love with you, which, after all, we cannot expect?”

“My dear ma’am,” said Arabella, in dulcet accents, “I hope I should not be so ill-bred as to be uncivil to anyone—even Mr. Beaumaris!”

“Well, my dear, I hope not, indeed!” said her ladyship doubtfully.

“I promise I will not be in the least degree uncivil to Mr. Beaumaris. if he should come to your party,” said Arabella.

“I am happy to hear you say so, my love, but ten to one he won’t come,” responded her ladyship pessimistically.

“He said to me at parting that he hoped to have the pleasure of calling on me in town before many days,” said  Arabella disinterestedly.

Lady Bridlington considered this, but in the end shook her head. “I do not think we should set any store by that,” she said. “Very likely he said it for politeness’ sake.”

“Very likely,” agreed Arabella. “But if you are acquainted with him, I wish you will send Lord Fleetwood a card for your party, ma’am, for he was excessively kind, and I liked him.”

“Of course I am acquainted with him!” declared Lady Bridlington, quite affronted. “But do not be setting your heart on him., Arabella, I beg of you! A delightful rattle, but the Fleetwoods are all to pieces, by what I hear, and however much he may flirt with you, I am persuaded he will never make you an offer!”

“Must every man I meet make me an offer?” asked Arabella, controlling her voice with an effort.

“No, my love, and you may depend upon it that they won’t!” replied her ladyship candidly. “In fact, I have had it in mind to warn you against setting your ambitions too high! I mean to do all I can for you, but there is no denying that suitable husbands do not grow upon every bush! Particularly, my dear—and I know you will not fly into a miff with me for saying it!—when you have no portion to recommend you!”

In face of her ladyship’s conviction, Arabella hardly liked to betray her feelings, so she bit her lip, and was silent. Fortunately, Lady Bridlington’s mind was not of a tenacious nature, and as she just then recollected a very important lady whose name must be included amongst the list of invited persons, she forgot about Arabella’s matrimonial chances in explaining why it would be folly to omit Lady Terrington from that list. Nothing more was said about Mr. Beaumaris, her ladyship having been diverted, by some chance reference of her own, into describing to Arabella the various social treats she had in store for her. In spite of the fact that the season had not yet begun, these were so numerous that Arabella felt almost giddy, and wondered whether, in this round of gaiety, her hostess would find the time to accompany her to Church on Sunday. But in doubting whether Lady Bridlington would go to Church she wronged her: Lady Bridlington would have thought it a very odd thing not to be seen in her pew every Sunday morning, unless, as was very often the case, she chose to attend the service, at the Chapel Royal, where, in addition to listening to an excellent sermon, she could be sure of seeing all her more distinguished friends, and even, very often, some member of the Royal family. This good fortune was hers on Arabella’s first Sunday in London, and the circumstance made fine reading; for the interested brothers and sisters in Yorkshire, following, as it did (most artistically), descriptions of Hyde Park, and St. Paul’s Cathedral, and a lively account of the racket and bustle of the London Streets.

“We attended Morning Service at the Chapel Royal, St. James’s on Sunday,” wrote Arabella, in a fine, small hand, and on very thin paper, crossing her lines. “We heard a very good sermon on a text from the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, pray tell dear Papa: He that had gathered much had nothing over; and he that had gathered little had no lack. London is still very thin of company”—not for nothing had Arabella dutifully attended to her godmother’s conversation!—“but there were a great many fashionables present, and also the Duke of Clarence, who came up to us afterwards, and was very affable, with nothing high in his manner at all.” Arabella paused, nibbling the end of her pen, and considering the Duke of Clarence. Papa might not care to have his Royal Highness described, but Mama, and Sophy, and Margaret would most certainly wish to know just what he was like, and what he had said. She bent again over her page. “I do not think one would say that he is precisely handsome,” she wrote temperately, “but his countenance is benevolent. His head is a queer shape, and he is inclined to corpulence. He made me think of my uncle, for he talks in just that way, and very loud, and he laughs a great deal. He did me the honour to say that I wore a vastly fetching hat: I hope Mama will be pleased, for it was the one with her pink feathers, which she made for me.” There did not seem to be anything more to be said about the Duke of Clarence, except that he talked quite audibly in Church, and that was information scarcely likely to please the inhabitants of the Vicarage. She read over what she had written, and felt that it might disappoint Mama and the girls. She added a line. “Lady Bridlington says that he is not near as fat as the Prince Regent, or the Duke of York.” On this heartening note she ended her paragraph, and embarked on a fresh one.