It was possible that she had come to Bath merely in search of diversion, and that when she threw him that tantalizing glance from under her sweeping lashes she had nothing more serious in mind than flirtation; but he thought it unlikely. She might have the instincts of a straw damsel, but he judged her to be sprung from middle-class parents, and to be too much imbued with the boring, shabby-genteel notions obtaining amongst the depressing and regrettably increasing members of this class to encourage the advances of any gentleman unable, or unwilling, to offer her the security of marriage.

He would have preferred, of course, to have become leg-shackled to a female of his own order, but the exigencies of his position made it impossible for him to be too nice in his choice. She seemed, at all events, to be a simple creature, who could be groomed into the semblance of a woman of quality. Her simplicity had led her to Bath, which was at once fortunate, and a trifle ticklish. Passing under review the numerous acquaintances he had made in Bath, he could discover no rival amongst them. But for weeks past the eyes of the residents had been interestedly watching his courtship of Fanny, and however little he might regard the censure of such as Mrs Ancrum, or Lady Weaverham, he would find himself in the suds if that determined pursuit came to the ears of Mrs Clapham. If he decided that it would be worth his while to transfer his attentions to her, he would be obliged to seek a way out of an obviously awkward situation. Well, it would be time enough to think how best to deal with trouble when he was brought face to face with it: that had always been his rule, and, on the whole, it had answered pretty well. Meanwhile, his first and most pressing need was to enquire more precisely into Mrs Clapham’s circumstances.

From his window, he was able to observe her return to the White Hart; and thus it came about that just as she had begun to mount the stairs he rounded the turn in the first pair, and came running lightly down. At sight of her, he checked, and, with a startled apology, retreated to the half-landing.

“Oh, pray don’t—why, if it isn’t you, Mr Calverleigh!” she exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you’re putting up here too!”

He laughed. “Must I not? I’m afraid I am! I’m sorry if you should object to it, but I was here before you, you know! “What is to be done?”

She went into a trill of mirth. “As though I meant anything so uncivil! You’re bantering me, sir! No, indeed, I’m sure I’m glad you are putting up here, for I’ve no other acquaintance in Bath. I was only saying to Mrs Winkworth, a couple of minutes past, how much I wished I knew someone here who could tell me how to find my way about, or where to go to purchase an umbrella, which I can see is what I shall be needing!”

“What, have you come to Bath without an umbrella, ma’am? Oh, that will never do! I will certainly direct you to the nearest shop which sells them! You will be wishing to write your name in Mr King’s subscription book too, I daresay.”

“Ought I to do so ? You’ll think me a regular zany, but I don’t perfectly understand. Who—who is Mr King?”

“He is the Master of Ceremonies at the New Assembly Rooms—the Upper Rooms, as they are often called. They hold balls and concerts there, and card-parties.”

“Balls! Oh, no, I don’t think I ought! Not yet! You see, it is not quite a year since Mr Clapham died, and although I have put off my blacks, because he never liked me to wear black, I shouldn’t care to show disrespect. I’m sure it wouldn’t be seemly for me to go to balls. Not but what I will become a subscriber, if it is the thing, which is what Mr Clapham would have wished, for never did he behave scaly, even when there was no good to be got by paying down his dust! So you must tell me—oh, dear, there are so many things I want to know!” She paused, and then said shyly: “I wonder—Would you care to drink tea with us in my private parlour? We should be very happy—shouldn’t we, Mrs Winkworth?” A thought seemed to occur to her; she added: “Unless of course—no, I don’t mean that! I mean—I mean, you might perhaps be engaged with your own party? Or—if you should chance to be a married man, we should be honoured to receive Mrs Calverleigh too!”

“No, I’m not married,” he replied. “I shall be delighted to drink tea with you, ma’am!”

Her face brightening, she said: “Oh, then, pray come whenever you choose! This evening?”

Far too astute to jump at an invitation, he excused himself, but, after a little hesitation, allowed her to persuade him to accept one for the following evening. He fancied that he read a certain measure of approval in Mrs Winkworth’s expression, and took his leave of both ladies, feeling that a promising start had been made in his new venture.

The tea-drinking was very successful. He found her seated on one side of a small fire, dressed all in gray, with no ornaments but her pearls, and one fine diamond ring, which he judged to have sentimental associations, since she gazed at it, from time to time, with wistful fondness.

It was not at all difficult to draw her out, for she was of a chatty and confiding disposition. Her tongue might run on wheels, but he was able to gather various important pieces of information from amongst the chaff of her conversation. He learned that she had lived almost her whole life in Birmingham, until Mr Clapham had bought a house a few miles outside the town, and had bestowed it upon her, just because he knew she had always hankered after a house in the country. Well, house—! It was more of a Property.

“But that was Mr Clapham all over,” she said. “He was quite elderly, you know, but I was excessively attached to him.”

“So you should have been,” dryly interpolated Mrs Wink-worth. “The way he doted on you!”

“Oh, you mean to say that he spoiled me!” Mrs Clapham pouted. She threw a laughing, rueful glance at Stacy. “That’s what she is for ever telling me, unkind thing! I’m afraid it’s true; I’ve been sadly spoilt. You see, I was Papa’s only child, and my mama died when I was very young. And then, when he died, Mr Clapham was so very kind, settling everything for me. and looking after all my affairs, and trying to make me understand about horrid things like Consols, only I never did, and I don’t think I ever shall, except that Papa had a great many of them. Business makes my head ache! So when Mr Clapham asked me to marry him I was truly thankful. Oh, he was so kind to me! He was used to say nothing was too good for me, and that after having nobody to care for so many years—for his sister who kept house for him died, and so he was the only one left-he liked to give me things. If ever I took a fancy to something, he would buy it, not saying a word to me, and there it would be the very next day, for a Surprise! Oh, I do wish I could show you my rubies! They are my favourite jewels, but Mrs Winkworth would have me lock them up in the Bank before we came to Bath, because it isn’t proper to wear coloured stones until one is out of black gloves, and she thinks they would be stolen if I kept them in a hotel.”

“My dear ma’am, how you do run on!” said Mrs Winkworth, frowning at her.

She was instantly penitent. “I never could learn to bite the tongue! It is very bad! Papa was used to say it ran like a fiddlestick, but Mr Clapham liked my silly bibble-babble. But you are very right: I have been boring on for ever! I won’t do so any more. Tell us about yourself, Mr Calverleigh! Do you live in London, or in the country?”

“Oh, in London—though I was bred up in the country.”

“I thought you did,” she said artlessly. “I mean to live there myself, for I’m sure I couldn’t bear to continue living at the Towers without Mr Clapham. He took me there once, and I liked it excessively. We stayed at a very comfortable hotel—I can’t remember what it was called, but Mr Clapham always stayed there when he was obliged to go to London, because he said they served the best dinners of all the hotels.”

“Then I collect it was the Clarendon.”

She clapped her hands together. “Yes, that was it! How clever of you to guess! Only I shouldn’t wish to live in a hotel. I mean to buy a house”

“Hire a house, ma’am,” corrected Mrs Winkworth.

“Well perhaps—if that’s what they do in London,” said Mrs Clapham doubtfully. She looked at Stacy. “Is it? Do you hire your house?

He smiled, and said, with a great air of frankness: “No, I have a lodging merely.”

“Oh!” She considered this for a moment. “I daresay a lodging is less trouble to you—being a gentleman.”

“Much less trouble!” he said, with a comical grimace.

“Yes, but—but a house of one’s own is more agreeable, I think. More homelike!”

“Not my house!” he said humorously.

“But you said you had only a lodging!”

“In London! I have a place in Berkshire: my family has owned it for generations. I daresay you know the style of thing: very historical, very inconvenient, and needs an army of servants to keep it in order. Quite beyond my touch! I’d sell it, if I could.”

“Can’t you? If you don’t wish to live in it?”

He threw up his hands in mock horror. “Sell Danescourt? My dear ma’am, never let any member of my family hear you suggest such a thing! I promise you, they would think it little short of blasphemy!”

He judged that he had said quite enough (and rather neatly, too) to impress her, and soon took his leave. Mrs Winkworth bestowed quite an approving smile upon him, which showed him that his candid avowal of his straitened circumstances had had its calculated effect on her.

Chapter XIV