Selina, fortunately, was too much surprised to notice it. She ejaculated: “ What? Poor Mr Calverleigh’s uncle? The one you told me about? The one that was sent away in disgrace? You don’t mean it! But why did he bring the young man home? I should have thought Mr Balking would have done so!”

“I believe he took care of him on the voyage.”

“Good gracious! Well, he can’t be so very bad after all! and very likely Mr Stacy Calverleigh isn’t either! Unless, of course, he only came to find his nephew—not that there is anything bad about that: in fact, it shows he has very proper feeling!”

“Well, he hasn’t!” said Abby. “He didn’t know his nephew was in Bath, and he hasn’t any family feelings whatsoever!”

“Now, my love, how can you possibly—Don’t tell me you’ve actually met him?”

“He came to call on Mrs Grayshott while I was there—and was so obliging as to escort me home. Quite Gothic!”

“I don’t think it in the least Gothic,” asserted Selina. “It gives me a very good opinion of him! Just like his nephew, whose manners are so particularly pleasing!”

“From all you have told me about his nephew, Mr Miles Calverleigh is nothing like him!” said Abby, with an involuntary choke of laughter. “He is neither handsome nor fashionable, and his manners are deplorable!”

Selina, regarding her with real concern, said: “Dearest, I am persuaded you must be yielding to prejudice, and indeed you should not, though, to be sure, dear Rowland was always used to say it was your besetting sin, but that was when you were a mere child, and perfectly understandable, as I told Rowland, because one cannot expect to find young heads—no, I mean old heads on young shoulders—not that I should expect to find heads on any shoulders at all, unless, of course, it was a freak! Which I know very little about, because you must remember, Abby, that dear Papa had the greatest dislike of fairs, and would never permit us to go to one. Now, what in the world have I said to cast you into whoops?”

“Nothing in the world, Selina!” Abby said, as well as she could for laughter. “On—on the contrary! You’ve t-told me that in spite of all my f-faults I’m not a freak!”

“My dear, you allow your love of drollery to carry you too far,” said Selina reprovingly. “There has never been anything like that in our family!”

Overcome by this comforting assurance, Abby fled, conscious of a wish that Mr Calverleigh could have been present to share her amusement.

Selina continued to speculate, in her rambling way, throughout dinner, on his probable character, what he had done to deserve being banished, and what had brought him back to England; but Fanny’s arrival, just before the tea-tray was brought in, gave the conversation a welcome turn. Fanny was. full of the quaint or the beautiful things Oliver Grayshott had brought home from India, and although Selina’s interest in ivory carvings or Benares brass might be tepid, the first mention of Cashmere shawls, and lengths of the finest Indian muslin, aroused all her sartorial instincts; while a minute description of the sari caused her to wonder how long it would be before she dared venture out of doors, and to adjure Fanny to beg Lavinia not to have it made up until she had seen it. “For you know, my dear, excellent creature though she is, dear Mrs Grayshott has no taste, and what a shocking thing it would be if such an exquisite thing were to be ruined!”

Fanny had spent a delightful day in Edgar Buildings, and she meant—if her aunts saw no objection—to repeat her visit. Lavinia, who was her dearest friend, had told her how low and oppressed poor Oliver was, and had asked her to come again, because funning with her, and making up charades, had quite got up his spirits. “So I think I should, don’t you?” Fanny said, frowning over her own thoughts. “It isn’t me, particularly, but being obliged to be polite and cheerful with a visitor, which does one a great deal of good when one has been ill, and feels dreadfully pulled.”

She had very little to say about Miles Calverleigh. It was plain that the only interest he had for her was his relationship to Stacy. She said that he was not at all like Stacy; and mentioned, as an afterthought, that he said he had known her mama well.

To Abby’s relief, Selina accepted this without question, seeing in it an added reason for thinking he could not be as black as he had been painted. Having decided that it would be both unsafe and unkind to divulge to her the story of Miles Calverleigh and Celia Morval, Abby was thankful to be spared searching enquiries into the circumstances under which Miles Calverleigh had contrived to become intimately acquainted with a girl who had been married within two months of her come-out, and had lived thereafter in a Bedfordshire manor.

She retired to bed presently, devoutly hoping that Mr Calverleigh would have left Bath before Selina emerged from her self-imposed seclusion.

Chapter VI

But Mr Calverleigh called in Sydney Place on the following day. Mitton, recognizing him as the gentleman who had escorted Miss Abby home on the previous afternoon, admitted him without hesitation, and took him up to the drawing-room, where Abby, under her sister’s instruction, was engaged in directing cards of invitation to their projected rout-party. She was unprepared, and gave such a start that her pen spluttered. Turning quickly, and almost incredulously, she encountered the blandest of smiles, and the slightest of bows, before Mr Calverleigh advanced towards her sister. What excuse he meant to offer for his visit was a puzzle that was speedily solved: Mr Calverleigh, taking Selina’s tremblingly outstretched hand in his, and smiling reassuringly down into her agitated countenance, told her that he had known her elder brother, and found himself unable to resist the impulse to extend his acquaintance with Rowland’s family. “Two of whom I had the pleasure of meeting yesterday,” he said, nodding with friendly informality at Abby. “How do you do, Miss Abigail?”

She acknowledged this greeting in the frostiest manner, but so far from being abashed, he laughed, and said: “Still out of charity with me? I must tell you, ma’am, that your sister was as cross as crabs with me for escorting her home. But in my day it was not at all the thing for girls of her quality to go out walking alone.”

Selina, already flustered by the style and manner of her unexpected visitor, lost herself in a tangle of words, for while on the one hand, she shared his old-fashioned prejudice, on the other, she knew very well that to agree with him would be to incur Abby’s wrath. So after floundering between a number of unfinished sentences, she begged him to be seated, and asked him where he had met her brother. Abby held her breath, but he returned a vague answer, and she let it go again.

“And you knew my sister-in-law too!” pursued Selina. “It seems so odd that I never—not that I was acquainted with all their friends, of course, but I thought—that is to say—dear me, how stupid! I have forgot what I was going to say!”

He regarded her confusion with a twinkle. “No, no, don’t turn short about! You thought I had been sent packing to India before your brother was married, and you were perfectly right: I knew Celia when she was still Miss Morval.”

“A long time ago,” said Abby. “Too long for me, I am afraid: you see, I didn’t.”

The unmistakable boredom in her voice scandalized Selina into uttering a protesting: “Abby dear—!”

Abby shrugged pettishly. “Oh, well, it is so tedious to be obliged to discuss old times in which one played no part! Anecdotes, too! I have a surfeit of them from General Exford. I wish you will rather tell us of your Indian experiences, Mr Calverleigh.”

“But that would be merely to exchange one form of anecdote for another,” he pointed out. “And much more boring, I assure you!”

“Oh, no! I am persuaded—so very interesting! All those Mahrattas, and things!” fluttered Selina, aghast at her sister’s behaviour. “Not that I should care to live there myself—and the climate far from salubrious—well, only think of poor young Mr Grayshott! But I daresay you had many exciting adventures!”

“Not nearly as many as I had in England!” He looked at Abby, wickedly quizzing her. “No need to look so dismayed, Miss Abigail: I don’t mean to recount them! Let us instead discuss the amenities of Bath! Do you mean to attend the concert this evening?”

For one sulphurous moment it was on the tip of her tongue to disclaim any intention of attending the concert, but the recollection that she was engaged to do so with a select party of friends checked her. She replied, with a glittering smile: “Yes, indeed! The Signora Neroli is to sing, you know—a high treat for those of us who love music. You, I daresay, would find it a dead bore, for I believe you don’t love music!”

“On the contrary: I find it wonderfully sopor—wonderfully soothing!”

A smile quivered at the corners of her mouth. “I doubt if you will find the benches wonderfully sopor-soothing, sir!”

“That card takes the trick!” he said approvingly.

She chuckled, and then as she caught sight of her sister’s face, blushed.

At that moment, Fanny came into the room, much to Abby’s relief. She greeted Mr Calverleigh with unaffected pleasure: just as she would have greeted any other of her aunt’s elderly admirers, Abby watched in some amusement, wondering how much Mr Calverleigh liked the touch of pretty deference which paid tribute to his advanced years. She was obliged to own that he took it with unshaken composure, responding in a manner that was positively avuncular. He did not stay long: a circumstance which caused Selina to say, when he had taken his leave, that although his manners were very odd, which was due, no doubt, to his having lived in India, he did know better than to remain for more than half-an-hour on a visit of ceremony.