“I imagine there can be no question of that! She has her uncle, and that aunt who brought her out, after all! Spenborough, too, was saying to me this morning that he and my lady hoped she would continue to make this her home. I own, I thought it handsome of him. To be taking a firebrand into one’s family is not what I should choose!”

“Hartley and Jane—Lord and Lady Spenborough, I mean, have been everything that is kind: Serena is fully conscious of it, but she knows it would not do. If you please. Papa, I believe it to be my duty to take care of Serena!”

“You take care of her!” he ejaculated, laughing. “I wish I may see it!”

She coloured, but said: “Indeed, it is she who has taken care of me, but I am her mother-in-law, and the most proper person to act as her chaperon, sir.”

He considered this, and yielded a reluctant assent. “It might be thought so indeed, but at your age—I don’t know what your Mama will say to it! Besides, the young lady, with that fortune at her back, will very soon be snapped up, temper and all!”

“She has too strong a mind to be taken in. I don’t fancy she will be married for a little while yet. Papa.”

“Very true! Nothing of that nature can be contemplated for a year at least. You will keep strict mourning, of course. Your Mama was inclined to think that you should return to Hartland for that period, for however much you may be known as the Dowager Countess, my dear, it cannot be denied that you are by far too young to live alone. We had some notion that when you put off your mourning, and will no doubt be thinking of setting up an establishment of your own, you might take one of your sisters to live with you. But that is to look some way ahead, and I don’t mean to dictate to you! There is something to be said for this scheme of yours, after all. You have been used to be the mistress of a great house, my dear, and you would not like to be living at Hartland again, in the old way. No, I am much disposed to think that you have hit upon the very thing to make all straight! That is, if you believe that you can be comfortable with Lady Serena?”

“Oh, yes! So very comfortable!”

“Well, I should never have thought it! I only hope she may not get into a scrape. You will be blamed for it, if she does! Her character is unsteady: that was plain when she made herself the talk of the town by jilting Rotherham! You were still in the schoolroom, but I well remember what an uproar it caused! I believe the wedding cards had actually been sent out!”

“It was very bad, but, indeed, Papa, I honour her for her resolution in drawing back before it was too late! Dear Lord Spenborough wished the match to take place, but nothing, I am persuaded, could have been more ineligible! He liked Rotherham because he is such a great sportsman, and such a splendid rider to hounds, and he could never be brought to see that he would be a dreadfully harsh and disagreeable husband! He would have made Serena so unhappy! He is the most hateful man, and takes a delight in vexing her! You must have heard the way he speaks to her—the things he doesn’t scruple to say!”

“Ay! And I heard her too! A very improper style she uses towards him! Let me tell you, Fanny, that there is something Very displeasing in that bold manner of hers! She expresses herself with a freedom I would not tolerate in one of my daughters.”

“She has known him since she was a child—has never stood upon ceremony with him! If she is sometimes betrayed into unbecoming warmth, it is his fault, for so unkindly provoking her! And as for temper, I am sure he has a worse one than hers could ever be!”

“Well, it’s plain you have a fondness for her, my dear,” he said indulgently. “For my part, I would not be in Rotherham’s shoes at this moment for something! He may think himself fortunate if he comes off without a scratched face, I daresay!”

But when he joined her in the Little Drawing-room, Rotherham found Serena quite composed. He said, as he closed the door: “What now? Am I here to be entreated, or abused?”

She bit her lip, but said: “You would not be moved by either, I suppose.”

“Not in the least, but I am quite at your disposal if you wish to continue quarrelling with me.”

“I am determined not to do so.”

He smiled. “That resolution will be broken soon enough! What do you want, Serena?”

“I wish you will sit down! Ivo, what is to be done?”

“Nothing.”

“You cannot mean to accept the Trust!”

“Why not?”

“Good God, one moment’s reflection must be enough to make you see how intolerable it would be! For both of us!”

“I can see why you should think it intolerable, but why should I find it so?”

“You don’t want for sense, so I suppose you are trying to provoke me! Can you doubt that the story will be one of the on-dits of the town within a week? My Uncle Dorrington will take care of that! Everyone will be talking about it, and—laughing at it!”

“This is a new come-out for you, Serena!” he said admiringly. “You were never used to give a straw for what anyone might say of you!”

She flushed, and looked away. “You are mistaken. In any event, to have everyone watching us would be detestable!”

“Let ’em watch! They will be tired of it by the time you are out of black gloves, and in the meanwhile it won’t worry me.”

“To have everyone conjecturing?”

“Lord, Serena, I’ve been food for conjecture any time these dozen years! There have been some very good stories made up about me, too.”

She looked despairingly at him. “I know this humour too well to suppose it is of the least use to continue talking. You mean to fob me off by pretending not to understand me.”

“No, I don’t. I understand you very well, but you’re refining too much upon it. There’s nothing remarkable in my being appointed to be your Trustee: everyone knows I was one of your father’s closest friends, and no one will be surprised that he chose to name me rather than that old fool, Dorrington, or the rasher of wind your aunt married!”

“No—if it had not been for that wretched engagement!” she said frankly. “That is what makes it so intolerable! Papa’s intention is—is blatant!”

“You can console yourself with the reflection that it is I, and not you, who will be a laughing-stock for the vulgar,” he said grimly.

“How can you talk so? I promise you, I don’t wish you to be put into such a position!”

“Don’t waste a thought on it! I’m inured!”

“Oh, how odious you are!” she exclaimed, with suppressed violence.

“That sounds more like you!” he said cordially. “I thought it would not be long!”

She controlled herself with a strong effort, not lost on him, tightly gripping her hands together in her lap, and clenching her teeth on her lower lip.

“Take care, Serena! you will go into strong convulsions if you bottle up so much spleen!”

She was always quick to perceive the ridiculous, and gave a gasp. Her eyes did indeed flash a challenge, but her sense of humour got the better of her temper, and she burst out laughing. “Oh—! At least own that you would provoke a saint!”

“I never tried to. You are no saint!”

“No, alas!” she sighed. “Come! don’t tease me, Ivo, pray! Is there no way of upsetting that infamous Will?”

“I should imagine not. I’m no lawyer, however. Consult your father’s attorney! I warn you, he returned no very encouraging answers to your uncles, when they appealed to him. I daresay it might be upset if I were to contravene the Trust, but I shan’t.”

“If you were to refuse to act—?”

“I shan’t do that either. You wouldn’t get control of your fortune if I did, and that’s what you chiefly want, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is! My father gave me £250 a year for pin-money, and that was very well while he lived, but how the deuce am I to support myself on such a sum?”

“Don’t try to bamboozle me, my girl! Your mother’s fortune was settled on you.”

“Ten thousand pounds, invested in the Funds! The whole of my income will be less than £700! Good God, Ivo, I daresay Papa must have spent as much on my hunters alone!”

“Oh, more! He gave a thousand guineas for that flea-bitten grey which carried you so well last season. But you will hardly hunt this year!”

“This year! No! But am I to be reduced to penury all the days of my life?” she demanded. “What if I should remain a spinster? Has any provision been made for that contingency?”

“No, none. I looked particularly at the Will to be sure of it,” he replied. “A damned, ill-managed business—but I suppose he thought there was no fear the point would arise.”

“He has certainly done his best to thrust me into marriage with the first man who is so obliging as to offer for me!” she said bitterly.

“You are forgetting something, my love!”

She looked mistrustfully at him. “No! Your consent must be obtained!”

“Just so! But make yourself easy! I shan’t withhold it unreasonably.”

“You would do anything to spite me!”

“Well, if I do, you will have a very good case against me, and will no doubt be able to break the trust. Meanwhile, let me give you a piece of advice! If you don’t wish to afford the world matter for gossip, assume the appearance at least of complaisance! How you came to make such a ninnyhammer of yourself, for all those fools to gape at, I know not! Rail at me in private if you choose, but in public behave so that the interested may believe you to be very well satisfied with the arrangement, and see nothing in it but what is natural and comfortable.”