“Nothing would more surely set up her back. Moreover, I am not in agreement with you. I fail to see why Serena should be deprived of what she has every right to enjoy.” He picked up his wineglass, and lounged back in his chair, one leg stretched out before him, and his hand thrust into the pocket of his breeches. He surveyed the Major somewhat satirically. “Serena, my dear sir, is the daughter of an extremely wealthy man, and has lived her whole life, until Spenborough’s death, in the first style of affluence. I know of no reason why she should be obliged to spend the rest of it in reduced circumstances. I should doubt very much her ability to do so. However, it is no concern of mine. By all means persuade her, if you think you can do it, and believe yourself able to support her when you have done it!”

There was a long silence. The Major sat down rather heavily, and for some time remained staring blindly at his wineglass, which he kept on twisting round and round, a finger and thumb gripping its stem. At last he drew a long breath, and looked up with an air of resolution. “Lord Rotherham, when I asked Serena to marry me, it was in the belief that although her fortune might be larger than my own, it was not so immense as to render my proposal an effrontery! I am astonished that you should behave with such—I must call it forbearance! I am well aware in what a light I must appear to anyone not familiar with the circumstances! In justice to myself, I wish to tell you that I have loved her—the memory of her—ever since I first saw her! She, too, formed an attachment. She would have married me then, but my suit was considered to be ineligible—which, indeed, it was! I was a mere lad, a younger son! We were parted. I never hoped to see her again, but forget her I could not! She was to me—an unattainable dream, a beautiful goddess beyond my reach!” He stopped, flushing, and said with some difficulty: “But I need not try to explain that to you, I fancy. I am aware—Serena has told me—”

“If Serena has told you that I ever thought her a goddess, she’s either an unconscionable liar, or she’s hoaxing you!” interrupted Rotherham tartly.

“She did not—I only thought—”

“Then think it no longer! I collect that when you succeeded to the property you now possess, you decided she was no longer above your touch?”

The Major shook his head. “It never entered my head. I didn’t suppose even that she could remember me. But we met—here in Bath—neither of us dreaming of such a thing.” He raised his eyes fleetingly to that harsh face, and said, colouring as he spoke: “It was as though the years rolled back—for both of us!”

“I see.” Rotherham smiled slightly. “Your dream, in fact, had come true.”

“It sounds foolish, I daresay. I had not meant to tell you all this! But what has happened tonight—”

“Not at all. You are singularly fortunate, Major Kirkby. In my experience, the embodiment of such a dream is frequently a severe disappointment. So Serena is just what you had imagined her to be! You must have been far better acquainted with her than I had supposed possible!”

“How could I—how could I be disappointed in her?” demanded the Major, with unnecessary violence.

“Evidently you are not.”

“No! Unthinkable!”

“Then we need not think of it. I am obliged to you for honouring me with your confidence, but it was unnecessary. I had not imagined that you wished to marry Serena for the sake of her fortune: she’s not such a fool as to be taken in by a fortune-hunter! Nor is she answerable to me for her actions.”

“Was it not to guard her from just such a fortune-hunter as I must appear that her father appointed you to be her Trustee?”

Rotherham’s mouth twisted rather wryly. “No. It was not. No doubt he hoped, at the least, that I should prevent her marriage to some obviously undesirable person. Mere disparity of fortune would not, I fancy, constitute undesirability in the eyes of the Law. She would marry whom she chose, even though I swore she shouldn’t touch a penny more than the pin-money she now enjoys,” He gave a short laugh. “And fight me afterwards to the Courts of Appeal!” he added. He got up. There is really no more to say. Shall we go?”

“Yes. That is—I must think! Before I knew the size of this appalling fortune, I had qualms that I had no business to—Had it not been for Lady Spenborough, I believe I must have torn myself away!”

Rotherham had strolled towards the door, but he paused, and looked at the Major. “Did Lady Spenborough encourage you to declare yourself?”

“Yes. I was in miserable uncertainty! I felt she was the most proper person to be consulted!”

“Good God!”

“You are thinking of her youth! But I knew her to be devoted to Serena! Her kindness, her sympathy I can find no words to describe! To lose Serena must be such a blow to her, but I believe she never spares a thought for herself. I think I never knew one so young and so timid to have so much strength of character, so much understanding!”

“An excellent woman.” agreed Rotherham. “Serena’s marriage will no doubt be a sad loss to her. She is really quite unfitted to live alone.”

“Exactly so! One cannot but feel that she needs to be protected from—But I fear she will have her sister thrust upon her, and from all I can discover a more disagreeable, censorious girl never existed!”

“Indeed? A gloomy prospect, certainly. However, I daresay she will marry again.”

“Marry!” The Major sounded thunderstruck, but said quickly, after a blank moment: “Why, yes! Of course! We must hope she may.”

“I do hope it,” said Rotherham cryptically, and opened the door.

The sound of music met them, as they mounted the stairs. They found Fanny seated by the open window, gazing out into the gathering dusk, and Serena at the piano in the back half of the drawing-room. She stopped playing when she saw that the gentlemen had come in, but the Major went to her, saying: “Ah, don’t get up! You were playing the Haydn sonata I recommended to you!”

“Attempting to play it! It is not fit yet to be heard!”

“Try it once more!” he coaxed her. “I’ll turn for you.”

She allowed herself to be persuaded. Rotherham walked over to the window, and sat down beside Fanny. For a few moments he watched the couple at the far end of the room, his face expressionless. Then he turned his head to look at Fanny. He said, his voice a little lowered: “I understand that this marriage has your approval, Lady Spenborough.”

“Yes, I—I feel so sure that he will make Serena happy!”

“Do you?”

“It couldn’t be otherwise!” she said wistfully. “He is so very kind, and—and has loved her so devotedly!”

“So I am informed.”

“Indeed, it is quite true! He worships her: I think there is nothing he would not do to please her!”

“Excellent! Does he quarrel with her?”

“No, no! His temper is of the sweetest, and he is so patient! I cannot but feel that his tenderness and forbearance must put it out of her power to quarrel with him.” She saw the sardonic smile curl his lips, and faltered: “You do not dislike him, Lord Rotherham?”

He shrugged. “I see nothing to dislike.”

“I am so glad you have not withheld your consent.”

“It would have been useless.”

She looked anxiously at him, and nerved herself to say: “I am afraid you are not quite pleased. He is not her equal in rank or fortune, but in worth, I do assure you—”

He interrupted her, in his brusque way. “On the contrary! I am much better pleased than I expected to be. Had I known—” He broke off. She saw that the smile had quite vanished, and that his brows were lowering again. He sat in a brown study for several minutes. It seemed to her that his face hardened as she watched him. As though he felt her eyes upon him, he came out of his reverie, and turned his head to meet her inquiring look. “Such persons as you and Major Kirkby are to be envied!” he said abruptly. “You make mistakes, but you will not make the crass mistakes that spring from a temper never brought under control! I must go. Don’t get up!”

She was wholly bewildered, and could only say: “You will stay for tea!”

“Thank you, no! It is not yet dark, and there will be a full moon presently: I mean to start for London tonight.” He shook handswith her, and strode away to take his leave of Serena and the Major.

“Going so soon!” Serena exclaimed, rising quickly from the piano stool. “Good God, have I driven you away by my lamentable performance?”

“I wasn’t listening to it. I am sleeping at Marlborough, or Newbury, tonight, and must not stay.”

She smiled, but retained his hand. “You have not wished me happy.”

There was a moment’s silence, while each stared into the other’s eyes. “Have I not? I do wish you happy, Serena.” His grasp on her hand tightened rather painfully for an instant. He released it, and turned to shake hands with the Major. “I wish you happy too. I fancy you will be.”

A brief goodbye, and he was gone. Serena shut the piano. The Major waited for a moment, watching her, as she gathered her music together. “No more?” he asked gently.

She looked as though she did not realize what she had been doing. Then she put the music into a cabinet, and replied, “Not tonight. I must practise it before I play it to you again.” She turned, and laid her hand on his arm, walking with him into the front half of the room. “Well, that went off pretty tolerably, didn’t it? I wish I had not flown into a rage, but he made me do so. Did you hate him?”

“I didn’t love him,” he confessed. “But I thought he treated my pretensions with a degree of kindness I had no right to expect.”