It was not, of course, the ideal marriage. He would have preferred—and, indeed, had preferred—a bride who had attained her majority; but heiresses were few and far between, and since his abortive attempt at an elopement his chances of being allowed to come within speaking distance of one had lessened to vanishing point. On the other hand, Fanny was a little beauty, and he thought that if he must become leg-shackled he would as lief many her as any other. But he wanted to do so with the approval of her aunts; and, having made a conquest of Selina, he had been hopeful of achieving a like success with Abigail. Five minutes in her company had been enough to shatter optimism: Abigail was made of sterner stuff than her sister, and had plainly set her face against him. Probably James Wendover was to blame for that; perhaps another man’s influence could be brought to bear with advantage. She seemed to be on friendly terms with Miles, which made it desirable to lose no time in enlisting Miles’s support.

So when he attended the ball at the Upper Rooms that evening, and found that his uncle was present, talking to Mrs Grayshott, he seized the first opportunity that offered of greeting him with every sign of pleasure. He was relieved to see that Miles did at least possess knee-smalls and a swallow-tailed coat, but his fingers itched to rearrange a necktie which he thought deplorable, and to brush into a more fashionable style his uncle’s raven locks. His own were beautifully pomaded, and swept into a Brutus; his coat exactly fitted his trim figure; a fob dangled at his waist; a quizzing-glass hung round his neck; the subtle fragrance of Steek’s lavender water clung to his person; and a diamond pin nestled in the folds of his Oriental tie. In fact, as Lady Weaverham observed to Mrs Slinfold, he had the unmistakable London touch. Mrs Slinfold, concurring, added that in her opinion he was the first in elegance of all the gentlemen present; but Mrs Ruscombe, overhearing, said with her shallow laugh: “Oh, do you think so ? Such a fribble! My husband—so naughty of him!—calls him a positive coxcomb!”

But since everyone knew not only that it was Mrs Ruscombe’s custom to attribute her more damaging criticisms to her meek spouse, but also that she had made every effort to throw the eldest of her five daughters in Mr Stacy Calverleigh’s way, this remark was received in stony silence. Mr Stacy Calverleigh might be too much of a bandbox creature for everyone’s taste, but he was not a coxcomb, for he neither strutted, nor played off the airs of an exquisite. His manners were very agreeable, so that even the most censorious of his elders were obliged to admit that he was pretty-behaved enough.

When Miss Abigail Wendover arrived, chaperoning her lovely niece, it was seen that she was wearing another of her London gowns, and agreed amongst her friends that she was in quite her best looks, only Mrs Ruscombe advancing the opinion that it was easy to appear to advantage if one was prepared to squander a fortune on one’s back.

This estimate was an exaggeration, but, being comfortably endowed, Abby was not obliged to study economy, and had had no hesitation in purchasing an extremely costly gown of figured lace, worn over a satin robe, which hung in soft folds to her feet, and ended in a demi-train. This, as much as the diamond aigrette in her hair, proclaimed to the knowledgeable that she had no intention of dancing; but Mr Miles Calverleigh was not of their number, and presently made his way to where she was sitting, and begged to have the honour of leading her into the set which was then forming.

She smiled, but shook her head, saying: “Thank you, but I don’t dance.”

“I’m glad of that,” he said. Then, as surprise and quick amusement leapt into her eyes, he laughed, and added: “I’m a shocking bad hand at it, you see! May I sit down, and talk to you instead?”

“Pray do!” she responded. “I have been wishing for the opportunity of talking to you, sir. Have you yet made the acquaintance of your nephew?”

“Yes, he was so obliging as to pay me a visit today.”

“What do you dunk of him?” she demanded.

“Why, nothing! Must I?”

“I wish you won’t be so provoking!” said Abby.

“I wouldn’t provoke you for the world. But what would you have me say? He was with me for less than an hour, and I can’t recall that he said anything that interested me to the point of thinking about him.”

“You are a most unnatural uncle!” she told him, with a severity at variance with the dimple that peeped in her cheek.

“Am I?” He reflected for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’d three uncles, and none of ’em took the smallest interest in me. After all, why should they?”

“For no reason at all, I daresay! Are you trying to make me—oh, what is it the hunting men say?—fly from a scent? Yes, that’s it. Well, you won’t do it! I also made the acquaintance of your nephew today, and I don’t scruple to tell you that I like him even less than I had expected I should!”

“No, did you ? Your expectations must have been much higher than you led me to suppose!”

“No, but—oh, I suppose I did expect him to be a man of charm! I don’t find him charming at all, and I can’t conceive how Fanny came to fall in love with him! Now, tell me to my head, can you?”

“Oh, easily!” he replied. “He is a very pretty fellow, you must allow! Turns out in excellent trim, too, and has both air and address.”

“Oh, yes!” she said bitterly. “Playing off his cajolery! He tried to turn me up sweet, but it’s my belief he is one who hides his teeth. And when he smiles there’s no smile in his eyes: only—only a measuring look! Surely you must have seen it?”

“Well, no!” he confessed. “But mat might be because he didn’t smile very often when he was with me. Or perhaps because he saw no need to—er—measure me!”

She said quickly: “You didn’t like him either, did you?”

“Oh, no! But how many people does one like ?”

She frowned over this, momentarily diverted. “Upon first acquaintance? I don’t know: not very many, perhaps. But one need not dislike them, and I do dislike Mr Stacy Calverleigh!”

“Yes, I thought you did,” he said gravely.

“And I don’t believe, for all his protestations and caressing ways, that he truly loves Fanny, or would have made the least push to engage her affections had she not been possessed of a large fortune!”

“Oh, lord, no!”

She turned her head, looking up into his face with pleading eyes, and laying one of her expensively gloved hands on his arm. “If you too think that, won’t you—oh, Mr Calverleigh, won’t you do anything to save my poor Fanny?”

He was regarding her with the smile which, unlike his nephew’s, sprang to life in his eyes, but all he said was: “My dear girl—No, no, don’t poker up! It was a slip of the tongue! My dear Miss Wendover, what do you imagine I could do?”

Never having considered this, she was at a loss for an answer. She said lamely: “Surely you must be able to do something.”

“What leads you to think so?”

“Well—well, you are his uncle, after all!”

“Oh, that’s no reason! You’ve told me already that I am an unnatural uncle, and if that means one who don’t meddle in the affairs of a nephew over whom he has no authority, and who might, for aught he cares, have been any other man’s nephew, you are undoubtedly right!”

“Not authority, no! But whatever you may say the relationship exists, and you must have influence, if you would but exert it?”

He looked down at her in some amusement. “You know, you have some remarkably hubble-bubble notions in that charming head of yours! How the devil should I have influence over a nephew who met me for the first time this afternoon ?”

She perceived the force of this argument, but the conviction that he could drive off Stacy, if he chose to do it, remained with her. It was irrational, to be accounted for only by the strength she believed she had detected in his harsh-featured countenance, and by a certain ruthlessness which underlay his careless manners. She said, with a tiny sigh: “I suppose you can have none. And yet—and yet—I think you could, if you but wanted to!”

“For my part,” he retorted, “I think you are very well able to button it up yourself, without any assistance from me.”

There did not seem to be anything more to be said, nor was she granted the opportunity to pursue the subject, her attention being claimed just then by Mr Dunston, who had been watching her jealously for some minutes, and now came up to beg for the privilege of taking her into the tea-room presently.

They met again, two days later, in Edgar Buildings; and however little pleased Abby may have been to find Mr Stacy Calverleigh in Mrs Grayshott’s drawing-room, making himself agreeable to his hostess, and winning Fanny’s favour by the engaging solicitude with which he treated Mr Oliver Grayshott, she was undoubtedly pleased to see his uncle, and betrayed it by the sudden smile which lit her eyes, and the readiness with which she put out her hand.

She discovered that her arrival had interrupted a lively discussion. Mr Grayshott’s medical adviser, visiting him earlier in the day, had professed himself very well satisfied with his progress, and had endorsed a somewhat recalcitrant patient’s belief that it would do him a great deal of good to abandon the sofa, and to get out for a little air and exercise. A drive up to Lansdown, and a gentle walk there, enjoying the view of the Bristol Channel, was what he recommended; but when Mr Grayshott took exception to this programme, saying, very improperly, that he would be damned if he allowed himself to be driven to Lansdown or anywhere else, as though he were dying of a deep decline, the doctor laughed, and said: “Well, well, go for a ride, if you choose! It won’t do you any harm, provided you don’t go too far, or exhaust yourself.”