“Yes, yes!” said Arabella impatiently, “but does he know of this letter? Will he let me go?”

“I fancy he don’t like it above half, but he said he could not stand in your way, and must trust to your conducting yourself in Society with propriety, and not allowing your head to be turned by frivolity and admiration. And as to that,” Bertram added, with brotherly candour, “I don’t suppose they will think you anything out of the way amongst all the nobs, so there’s precious little chance of its happening.”

“No, I am sure they will not,” said Arabella. “But tell me the whole! What did Lady Bridlington say in her letter?”

“Lord, I don’t know! I was trying to make sense of a whole rigmarole of Greek when Mama came in, and I wasn’t listening with more than half an ear. I daresay she’ll tell it all to you. She sent me to say she wants you in her dressing-room.”

“Good gracious, why could you not have told me that before?” cried Arabella, stuffing the half-finished shirt into a work-bag and flitting out of the room.

The Parsonage, although built on two storeys only, was a large, old-fashioned house, and to reach Mrs. Tallant’s dressing-room Arabella was obliged to traverse several corridors, all carpeted with a worn drugget, and all equally draughty.

The living of Heythram was respectable, being worth some three hundred pounds a year, in addition to which the present incumbent was possessed of a small independence; but the claims of a numerous family made the recarpeting of passages more a thing to be dreamed of than an allowable expense. The Vicar, himself the son of a landed gentleman, had married the beautiful Miss Theale, who might have been expected to have done better for herself than to have thrown her cap over the windmill for a mere younger son, however handsome he might be. Indeed, it had been commonly said at the time that she had married to disoblige her family, and might, if she had chosen, have caught a baronet on her hook. Instead she had fallen in love with Henry Tallant at first sight. Since his birth was genteel, and her parents had other daughters to dispose of, she had been permitted to have her way; and apart from wishing sometimes that the living were worth more, or that Henry would not put his hand in his pocket for every beggar who crossed his path, she had never given anyone reason to suppose that she regretted her choice. To be sure, she would have liked to have installed into the Parsonage one of the new water-closets, and a Patent Kitchen Range; or, like her brother-in-law up at the Hall, have been able, without feeling the pinch, to have burnt wax candles in all the rooms; but she was a sensible woman, and even when the open fire in the kitchen smoked, and the weather made a visit to the existing water-closet particularly disagreeable, she realized that she was a great deal happier with her Henry than ever she could have been with that almost forgotten baronet. She naturally concurred in his decision that whatever became of their daughters their sons at least must receive every advantage of education; but even while employing every shift of economy to ensure the respectable maintenance of James and Bertram at Harrow she was gradually building her ambitions more and more on the future of her eldest and most beautiful daughter. Without precisely regretting the circumstances which had made it impossible for herself to shine farther afield than York and Scarborough, she was determined that Arabella should not be similarly circumscribed. Perhaps it had been with this hope already at the back of her mind that she had invited her school-friend, Arabella Haverhill, who had contracted such a brilliant match, to stand as godmother to her infant daughter. Certainly her resolve to send the younger Arabella to make her debut into society under the aegis of Lady Bridlington was of no very recent date. She had maintained throughout the years an infrequent but regular correspondence with her old friend, and was tolerably certain that fashionable life had in no way impaired the easy good-nature which had characterized the plump and cheerful Miss Haverhill. Lady Bridlington was not herself blessed with daughters—she was, in fact, the mother of only one child, a son, some seven or eight years older than Mrs. Tallant’s daughter—but from her friend’s point of view this was a decided advantage. The mother of a family of hopeful girls, however goodnatured, would not be in the least likely to take under her wing yet another young female in search of an eligible husband. But a widow in comfortable circumstances, with a strong inclination for all the amusements of fashion, and no daughters to launch upon the world, might reasonably be supposed to welcome the opportunity of chaperoning a young protégée to the balls, routs, and Assemblies she herself delighted in. Mrs. Tallant could not conceive it to be otherwise. Nor was she disappointed. Lady Bridlington, crossing several sheets of gilt-edged notepaper with her sprawling pen, could not imagine why she should not have hit upon the notion herself. She was excessively dull, and liked nothing in the world so much as having young persons about her. It had long been a grief to her, she wrote, that she had no daughter of her own; and as she had no doubt that she would love her dearest Sophia’s girl on sight she should await her arrival in the greatest impatience. Mrs. Tallant had had no need to mention her object in sending Arabella to town: Henry Tallant might consider that Lady Bridlington’s letters betrayed little but folly and frivolity, but her ladyship, however lacking in mental profundity, had plenty of worldly sense. Sophia might rest assured, she wrote, that she would leave no stone unturned to provide Arabella with a suitable husband. Already, she hinted, she had several eligible bachelors in her eye.

It was small wonder, then, that Arabella, peeping into her mother’s dressing-room, should have found that admirable lady lost in a pleasant daydream.

“Mama?”

“Arabella! Come in, my love, and close the door! Your godmother has written, and in the kindest way! Dear, dear creature, I knew I might depend upon her!”

“It’s true then? I am to go?” Arabella breathed.

“Yes, and she begs I will send you to her as soon as may be contrived, for it seems that Bridlington is travelling on the Continent, and she is quite moped to death, living in that great house all alone. I knew how it must be! She will treat you as her own daughter. And, oh, my dearest child, I never asked it of her, but she has offered to present you at one of the Drawing-rooms!”

This dizzy prospect took from Arabella all power of speech. She could only gaze at her mother, while that lady poured out a list of the delights in store for her.

“Everything I could wish for you! Almack’s—I am sure she will be able to procure you a voucher, for she knows all the patronesses! Concerts! The theatre! All the ton parties—breakfasts, Assemblies, balls—my love, you will have such opportunities! you can have no notion! Why, she writes that—but never mind that!”

Arabella found her voice. “But Mama, how shall we contrive? The expense! I cannot—I cannot to go London without any clothes to wear!”

“No, indeed!” said Mrs. Tallant laughing. “That would present a very odd appearance, my love!”

“Yes, Mama, but you know what I mean! I have only two ball dresses, and though they do very well for the Assemblies in Harrowgate, and country parties, I know they are not modish enough for Almack’s! And Sophy has borrowed all Mrs. Caterham’s Monthly Museums, and I have been looking at the fashions in them, and it is too lowering, ma’am! Everything must be trimmed with diamonds, or ermine, or point-lace!”

“My dear Arabella, don’t put yourself in a taking! That has all been thought of, I assure you. You must know that have had this scheme in my mind for many a long day.” She saw her daughter’s face of mystification, and laughed again. “Why, did you think I would send you into society looking like a rustic? I am not quite such a zany, I hope! I have been putting by for this very occasion since I don’t know when.”

“Mama!”

“I have a little money of my own, you know,” explained Mrs. Tallant. “Your dear Papa would never use it, but desired me to spend it only as I liked, because I used to be very fond of pretty things, and he never could bear to think I might not have them when I married him. That was all nonsense, of course, and I’m sure I very soon gave up thinking of such fripperies. But I was very glad to have it to spend on my children. And in spite of Margaret’s drawing-lessons, and Sophy’s music-master, and dearest Bertram’s new coat, and those yellow pantaloons which he dare not let Papa see—my love, was there ever such a foolish boy? As though Papa did not know all along!—and having to take poor Betsy to the doctor three times this year, I have quite a little nest-egg saved for you!”

“Oh, mama, no, no!” cried Arabella, distressed. “I would rather not go to London at all than that you should be put  to such dreadful expense!”

That is because you are sadly shatterbrained, my dear,” replied her mother calmly. “I regard it as an investment, and I shall own myself extremely astonished if a great deal of good does not come of it.” She hesitated, looked a little conscious, and said, picking her words: “I am sure I do not have to tell you that Papa is a Saint. Indeed, I don’t suppose there is a better husband or father alive! But he is not at all practical, and when one has eight children to provide for, one must have a little worldly sense, or I don’t know how one is to go on. One need have no anxiety about dear James, to be sure; and since Harry is set on going to sea, and his uncle is so obliging as to use his influence in his behalf, his future is settled. But I own I cannot be happy about poor Bertram; and where I am to find suitable husbands for all you girls in this restricted neighbourhood, I have not the least notion! Now, that is speaking more plainly than perhaps Papa would like, but you are a sensible puss, Arabella, and I have no scruple in being open with you. If I can but contrive to establish you respectably, you may bring out your sisters, and perhaps, even, if you should be so fortunate as to marry a gentleman of position, you might be able to help Bertram to buy his commission. I do not mean, of course, that your husband should purchase it precisely, but he might very likely have an interest at the Horse Guards, or—or something of the sort!”