“Does Lord Rotherham know that you are here?” she asked anxiously.

“Well, I told him that I should come here, but ten to one he didn’t believe I should dare to disobey him. Indeed, I know he did not! He is so set up in conceit of himself—But I fancy I have shown him that he cannot browbeat me! I’m not afraid of him! Though I should wish not to be in Bath, if he should take it into his head to visit you,” said Gerard, with perfect sincerity. “I don’t mean, of course, that I shouldn’t prefer to face him now, man to man, but the thing is that it would very likely ruin all if I did,” he added, lapsing slightly.

Emily, both hands to her cheeks in a distracted gesture, paid very little heed to this. “Oh, heavens, what shall I do? Oh, how could you, Gerard?”

“But I have told you what you must do!” he pointed out. “You have only to be resolute in refusing to continue in the engagement, and, although it may be a trifle unpleasant at first, I daresay, there is nothing either your mama or Rotherham can do to compel you to yield, recollect! Of course, it would not do, if you were to disclose that you are betrothed to me. It is the shabbiest thing that I’m not of age! If I were, and Rotherham had no legal power over me, I need not tell you that I should remain at your side, and see to it you were not scolded or bullied! But it is only for a little time, dearest, and then we shall be married!”

But Emily, deriving no comfort from this prospect, merely begged him to take her back to her grandmother, and declared herself to be incapable of deciding, without reflection, upon any course of action. She was so much agitated that Gerard saw that it would be useless to press her for an immediate promise. He could perceive no flaw in his plan, but he knew that females were easily alarmed by anything unexpected, besides not being possessed of superior intellects capable of grappling in a flash with all the aspects of a problem. So he said soothingly that she must consider all he had said, and tell him the result of her lucubrations on the following day. Where should they meet?

Emily was at first inclined to think that they ought not to meet at all, but since he persisted in his determination, she said at last: “Oh, dear! I’m sure I shan’t—Oh, I don’t know how it may be contrived, unless Grandmama will let me go to Meyler’s Library, while she is in the Pump Room, which I frequently do, because it adjoins it, you know, and—”

“But we can’t talk in a crowded library!” objected Gerard. “I’ll tell you what, Emily! You must pretend that you wish to change your books, but instead slip away to the Abbey! I shall be there, and it is only a very little way!”

19

Emily kept the appointment, but little was gained by the clandestine interview. She arrived at the Abbey doors in a flutter, because she had caught sight of one of Mrs Floore’s acquaintances on the way, and could not be sure that she had not herself been seen. It was in vain that Gerard assured her that the sight of an unattended damsel traversing the short distance between the Pump Room and the Abbey would not shock the most prudish person: Emily could not be easy. He drew her into the Abbey, but, as might have been foreseen, this was found to be overfull of visitors, wandering about it, and looking at its beauties and antiquities. Even Gerard could not feel that he had chosen an ideal spot for the assignation; and as for Emily, she could lend him no more than half an ear, so much occupied was she in keeping a lookout for any more of Mrs Floore’s friends. In any event, it was only too plain that she was still in a state of miserable indecision, and the end of it was that they parted with nothing settled but that they should meet again that evening at the theatre. Mr Goring was coming to Bath later in the day, and had invited Mrs Floore and Emily to go with him to the box he had procured. This was just the sort of evening’s entertainment which exactly suited Mrs Floore, for not only did she enjoy any kind of spectacle, but the New Theatre being situated on the south side of Beaufort Square, she could go to it without being obliged to order out her carriage. When people marvelled at her choosing to live in Beaufort Square, she pointed this advantage out to them, adding that on such evenings as she was alone she was able to sit in the window of her drawing-room, and watch who was attending the theatre, and thus avoid being moped to death.

Emily acquiesced in Gerard’s suggestion that he should obtain a seat in the house, but she showed no enthusiasm at the prospect of being again urged to make up her mind. It was an exercise to which she was not at all accustomed. However, Gerard was insistent, and she gave way, reflecting that it was unlikely that he would find an opportunity to be private with her.

She then sped back to the Pump Room, and Gerard, who had not journeyed into the west country prepared to make a prolonged stay, went off to purchase a shirt, and some additional neckcloths. It would have been too much to have said that his inamorata had disappointed him, but she had certainly disconcerted him. When he was himself behaving with what he considered to be amazing resolution, it was a little hard to find that the person for whom he had made his brilliant plan showed so Laodicean a spirit. Moreover, he had hoped to have left Bath by midday, and to be kept kicking his heels indefinitely in such a dangerous locality was not at all what he liked. At any moment, Rotherham, suspicious of his intentions, might take it into his head to come to Bath, just to make sure he was not there; and then, thought Gerard, where would they be?

It was as he emerged from a shop in Bond Street that he had the misfortune to encounter one of the perils which beset him. He heard himself hailed, in surprised accents, and looked round to see Lady Serena, escorted by a tall man of very upright bearing, waving to him. There was nothing for it but to cross the street towards her, summoning to his lips what he hoped was a delighted smile.

“Why, Gerard, how comes this about?” Serena said, giving him her hand. “What brings you to Bath?”

“A friend—a college friend of mine, ma’am!” he replied. “Has been begging me for ever to pay him a visit! He lives here, you see, with his family. At least, not here, but just beyond the town!”

“Indeed! Do you mean to make a long stay?” she asked kindly.

“No, oh, no! In fact, I am going back to London tomorrow.” He then thought that she must wonder at his having come over a hundred miles only to spend a couple of days with his friends, and at once created another friend, living in Wiltshire, with whom he said he had been staying for several weeks.

Serena, taking only a casual interest in this, introduced him to Major Kirkby. They all three walked on to the end of the street, where Gerard took his leave, saying that he was pledged to meet his host in Westgate Street. He then walked quickly away down Parsonage Lane, and the Major and Serena, turning to the left, strolled along in the direction of Bridge Street.

“And who is that young fribble? inquired the Major.

She laughed. “Rotherham’s eldest ward. He is guardian to all his cousin’s children, and a very bad guardian, too! He takes not the least interest in them, and this boy he holds in contempt, and is often, I think, very unkind to him. For there is no harm in Gerard, even if, in his efforts to be taken for a Bond Street beau, he does contrive to look very like a counter-coxcomb. I can see you thought him one!”

“Oh, no!” said the Major. “I have seen too many boys of his age trying to come the dandy! Most of them outgrow it quite speedily. He wasn’t at all glad to meet you, was he?”

“Did you think he was not?” she said. “He’s very shy, you know. I daresay you overawed him with your height and your grave countenance!”

“My grave countenance!” he repeated, a tinge of red creeping into it. “Is it so grave?”

“It has been grave since you returned to Bath,” she told him. “Did you find something amiss at home?”

“Not exactly amiss—some tiresome business, too long neglected! My mother is rather unwell!” said the Major, snatching at this excuse, and thankful for the first time in his life that his parent’s chief diversion was to detect in herself unmistakable symptoms of some deepseated disorder.

“I am so sorry!” Serena said, with quick sympathy. “I hope no serious illness?”

“No, I believe—that is, I trust not! The doctor was to visit her this morning.”

“I shouldn’t wonder at it if Bath is to blame. It was tolerable in the spring, but I know of no more enervating town to be in during the summer. It does not agree with Fanny, I know. Have you noticed how hagged she is looking? She says this heavy, windless weather we’ve endured now for a week makes her feel stuffed to death. I know exactly what she means, don’t you? I am conscious of it myself. Everything seems to be an abominable fag, and one becomes languid in spirit, and rather cross. That is to say, I become rather cross! Fanny was never cross in her life.”

“Cross you may be, but not languid in spirit!” he said, smiling.

“Hipped, then, and on the fidgets!” She glanced up at him as she spoke, and saw that he was regarding her with a little trouble in his eyes. She slid her hand in his arm, and said, in her funning voice: “You may take that as a compliment, if you please! Five days you were away! The only marvel is that I did not fall into a lethargy. I daresay I must have done so, had I not been occupied in thinking how shabbily I was used, and how best I should punish you!”

“Did you miss me?” he asked.