“No, I fancy she must have learnt them from Miss Fletching,” said Henrietta. “From what Cherry has told me, she must be an excellent woman—and it is to Mr Wilfred Steane’s credit that he placed Cherry in her school, even if he did forget to pay the bills!”

“Well, it may be so,” acknowledged Lady Silverdale, reluctant to perceive any saving grace in Mr Wilfred Steane’s character, “but for my part I should rather suppose that he chose the first school that hit his eye. And I am much inclined to think that Cherry’s manners spring from her disposition—so very amiable and obliging, and with such delicacy of principle!—than from any lesson Miss Fletching could have taught her. You know, dearest, how very rarely I take a fancy to anyone, but I own I have taken a strong fancy to Cherry, and shall miss her sadly when she leaves us. Indeed, if Nettlecombe refuses to adopt her, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least, because he was always known to be as close as wax, and has “become positively freakish of late years—I have a very good mind to keep her here!”

Henrietta, who knew well, not how rarely her mama took fancies to people, but how frequently she did, and how inevitably she discovered that she had been mistaken in the character of her latest protégée, was startled into exclaiming: “Handsomely over the bricks, Mama, I do beg of you! You have only known Cherry for a sennight!”

“I have known her for nine days,” replied her ladyship, with dignity. “And I must request you, Hetta, not to employ vulgar slang when you are talking to me! Or to anyone, for it is not at all becoming in you! I have not the remotest conjecture what handsomely over the bricks may signify, but I collect that you have heard Charlie say it, and I must tell you that you are very ill-advised to copy the things young men say.”

“Oh, don’t blame Charlie, ma’am!” Henrietta said, her eyes alight with laughter. “It is what Desford says, when he thinks I am about to do something rash! But I should not have said it to you, and I beg your pardon! In—in unexceptionable language, I hope that you will consider carefully before you come to any decision about Cherry.”

“Naturally I shall do so,” said Lady Silverdale. “You may be sure of that!”

Henrietta was anything but sure of it, but she said no more, knowing that few things were more likely to goad Lady Silverdale into precipitate action than opposition from herself. Upon reflection she realized that she ought to have been prepared for the announcement which had startled her into uttering the slang phrase which had offended her mama’s chaste ears for she had watched Cherry winning more and more approval, and had several times heard Lady Silverdale say that she couldn’t conceive how she ever contrived to exist without “our sweet little sunbeam.” Well, there was nothing surprising in that: still less was it surprising that Lady Silverdale should be enjoying Cherry’s visit, for Cherry was always ready to do whatever her kind hostess wished, and happily ran errands, unravelled tangled embroidery silks, went for tediously slow walks with her round the gardens, accompanied her on sedate drives in her landaulette, read aloud to her, and listened with unfeigned interest to her store of very dull anecdotes. These duties had hitherto fallen to Henrietta’s lot, and although she had performed them cheerfully they had bored her very much, and none of them more than listening to reminiscences which had been told her many times before, and reading aloud absurdly romantic and adventurous novels, for which form of literature Lady Silverdale had an incurable passion. But three days after Cherry’s arrival at Inglehurst Henrietta contracted a slight cold, which made her throat too sore for reading aloud, and she had suggested that Cherry might take her place until she had recovered from her trifling indisposition. She had apologized to Cherry for saddling her with a task which she feared she would think abominably dull, but Cherry had said that indeed she wouldn’t think it dull, and the wonder was that she didn’t. At least, it seemed wonderful at the outset, but it was soon brought home to Henrietta, that Cherry’s literary taste exactly matched Lady Silverdale’s. Never having been permitted by Miss Fletching to read novels, she was instantly entranced by the specimen Henrietta gave her, entering into all the hapless heroine’s alarms, adoring the hero, hating the villain, uncritically accepting every extravagance of the plot, and eagerly discussing with Lady Silverdale how the story would end. Almost as absorbing did she find the Mirror of Fashion, a monthly periodical to which Lady Silverdale subscribed, and was ready to pore over it for as long as Lady Silverdale pleased. It had to be admitted that with all the advantages of a pretty face, engaging manners, and sweetness of disposition, one attribute had been denied her: she was regrettably lacking in intellect, Henrietta thought that when the ingenuousness of youth left her she would be as foolish as Lady Silverdale (though probably not as indolent), and a sad bore to any man of superior sense, for she was interested only in trivialities and domestic matters, and had very little understanding of wider issues. To Henrietta, who possessed considerable force of mind, this made her no more companionable than a small child would have been, but it suited Lady Silverdale admirably, and would possibly suit some other elderly and rather silly lady just as well. But what a bleak prospect for an affectionate girl, crying out to be loved and cherished! Henrietta sighed over it, but could see no other solution to the problem of her future, if Nettlecombe refused to acknowledge her. The realization that her mother had taken it into her head to keep Cherry with her seriously dismayed her. No dependence could be placed on Lady Silverdale’s continuing to dote on the girl: at any moment she might take her in dislike; and even if she did not do that she would almost certainly find her an irksome burden when the family removed to London, which they always did in the spring, and she became engaged in too many social activities to have the smallest need of any other attendant than her dresser. In London, Cherry would inevitably be regarded as that tiresome Extra Female, the bane of all hostesses, and could count herself fortunate if the sudden indisposition of one of the invited ladies led to her inclusion in some of her ladyship’s dinner-parties. To suppose that Lady Silverdale’s matchmaking instincts would prompt her to find a suitable husband for Cherry was to indulge fancy far beyond the bounds of probability: they were concentrated on her daughter, whose obstinate spinsterhood constituted almost the only flaw in her otherwise carefree existence. In a year or two she would no doubt be seeking a bride for her adored son, but at no time would she think it incumbent upon her to find a mate for Cherry. The thought of her brother caused Henrietta to feel a twinge of uneasiness. It had not occurred to Lady Silverdale that he might seek distraction in his enforced stay at Inglehurst by pursuing an à suivie flirtation with Cherry, but Henrietta laboured under no delusions about him, and she knew that he had begun to look far more favourably upon Cherry than when he had first seen her. He no longer spoke contemptuously of her as a snippety-thing, but had described her to at least two of Lady Silverdale’s morning visitors as a taking little puss. Henrietta did not for a moment suppose that he had any serious intention in mind; and she had a shrewd suspicion that Cherry’s friendly manner towards him rose from a very proper wish to avoid offending the susceptibilities of his mother and sister, and not at all from a desire to encourage his advances. She had at first been very shy of him, but that, naturally, had worn off, as she became better acquainted with him, and it was not many days before she was able to take him very much for granted, behaving towards him with little more ceremony than she would have used towards an elder brother. She fetched and carried for him, and sought to divert him by playing cribbage and backgammon and draughts with him, or even such infantile games as span-counters, in which his superior skill was counterbalanced by his inability to use his right hand. She did these things because she was sorry for him, and anxious to help his mother and sister to keep him amused; but although she enjoyed playing such games and was young enough to be intent on proving herself a match for him, Henrietta did not think that she liked him very much. That made Henrietta sigh again. Not that she wanted Cherry to fall a victim to Charlie’s lures, but she did wish that Cherry were not so indifferent to every young man she met, for her indifference, coupled as it was with a tongue-tied shyness, did not make her appear to advantage. The only men with whom she was natural and at ease were nearly all of them old enough to have fathered her; or, if not quite so middle-aged, too old to be considered as possible suitors, at all events. She certainly liked Desford, but although in years he was only ten years her senior, in experience he was at least twenty years older; and Henrietta believed (and hoped) that she regarded him in the light of a protector, not as a possible suitor. Cary Nethercott, and Sir James Radcliffe had also won her liking, but both these kindly gentlemen were in their thirties, which was probably why she didn’t retire into her shell when they came to Inglehurst, but chatted away to, them in the most natural style imaginable. She even told Mr Nethercott all about the lurid romance she was reading to Lady Silverdale, when she was seated beside him at dinner one evening. Henrietta heard her doing it and was moved to silent admiration of the good-nature which made him listen with apparent interest to the tangled story that was being described to him.