“And where,” enquired Mr Steane, “is this respectable household situated?”

“Oh, in Hertfordshire!” said Simon carelessly.

“In Hertfordshire!” said Mr Steane, sitting up with a jerk. “Can it be that I have wronged Lord Desford? Has he made her an offer? Do not be afraid to confide in me! To be sure, he should have obtained my permission to address himself to Cherry, but I am prepared to pardon that irregularity. Indeed, if he supposed me to be dead his informality must be thought excusable.” He wagged a finger at Simon, and said archly: “No need to be discreet with me, my boy! I assure you I shall raise no objection to the match—provided, of course, that Lord Desford and I reach agreement over the Settlement, which I have no doubt we shall do. Ah, you are wondering how I have guessed that the respectable household to which you referred can be none other than Wolversham! I have never had the pleasure of visiting the house, but I have an excellent memory, and as soon as you spoke of Hertfordshire I recalled, in a flash, that Wolversham is in Hertfordshire. A fine old place, I believe: I shall look forward to seeing it.”

Momentarily stunned, Simon pulled himself together, and lost no time in dispelling the illusion which was obviously working powerfully on Mr Steane’s mind. “Good God, no!” he said. “Of course he hasn’t taken her to Wolversham! He wouldn’t dare! You must know as well as I do, sir, how my father regards you—well, you’ve told me yourself that he gave you the cut direct, so I needn’t scruple to say that nothing would ever prevail upon him to give his consent to Desford’s marriage to Miss Steane! Not that there’s the least likelihood of his being asked to do so, because there ain’t! Desford has not made an offer, because, for one thing, he ain’t in love with her; for another, there’s no reason why he should; and for a third—well, never mind that!”

He had the satisfaction of seeing Mr Steane’s radiant smile fade from his face, but it was short lived. A calculating look came into that gentleman’s eyes, and his next words almost made the hair rise on Simon’s scalp. “I fancy, young man,” said Mr Steane, “that you will find you are mistaken. Yes. Very much mistaken! I can well believe that your honoured parent will not favour the match, but I venture to say that I believe he would favour still less an action of breach of promise brought against his heir.”

“Breach of promise?” ejaculated Simon. “You’d catch cold at that, Mr Steane! Desford never made your daughter an offer of marriage!”

“How do you know that?” asked Mr Steane. “Were you present when he stole her out of her aunt’s house?”

“No, I was not! But he told me how it came about that he was befriending Miss Steane—”

He stopped, for a slow smile had crept over Mr Steane’s face, and he was shaking his head. “It is easy to see that you can have little knowledge of the law, young man. What your brother may have told you is not evidence. If it were admitted—which I can assure you it wouldn’t be!—it could scarcely outweigh my unfortunate child’s evidence!”

“Do you mean to say,” gasped Simon, “that you think your daughter is the kind of girl who would stand up in a court of law, and commit perjury? Your memory isn’t as good as you suppose, if that’s what you think! Why, she’s no more than a chit of a schoolgirl that hasn’t cut her eye-teeth!”

“Ah!” said Mr Steane, putting Simon forcibly in mind of a cat confronted with a saucer of cream. “I collect, Mr Carrington, that you have met my little Cherry?”

“Yes, I’ve met her! And if she had accepted an offer from Desford, why, pray, didn’t she tell me so?”

“So you have met her!” said Mr Steane thoughtfully. “No doubt in Lord Desford’s company? Very significant! Ve-ry significant! One is led to suppose that he meant, at that time, to espouse her, for why, otherwise, should he have made her known to you?”

“He didn’t! What I mean is,” said Simon, becoming momently more harassed, “I met her at—in the house to which he took her, and Desford didn’t know I was there! I mean, he didn’t expect me to be there, and she wasn’t in his company when I met her! She was alone, in one of the saloons, waiting for Desford to explain the circumstances to Miss—to the lady in whose charge he placed her!”

“This,” said Mr Steane, in a stricken voice, “is worse than I feared! Unhappy youth, has Lord Desford placed her in a fancy-house?”

“A fancy—No, of course he hasn’t!” said Simon indignantly. “He took her to an old friend’s house—a very respectable house, I’ll have you know!”

“It doesn’t sound like it to me,” said Mr Steane simply.

“Oh, for God’s sake, stop measuring twigs!” exclaimed Simon, quite exasperated. “You’re talking the most idiotic hornswoggle I’ve been obliged to listen to in all my life! And I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to any more of it! Go back to my brother’s house, and leave your card there—one that bears your true name!—and inform his butler where you are to be found! I promise you he will seek you out directly, for nothing could please him more than to know that Miss Steane’s father is alive, and able to take charge of her. Though whether he will be pleased when he discovers what sort of a fellow you are is another matter!”

This savage rider failed to ruffle Mr Steane’s serenity. “I venture to say that he would be very far from pleased—if he did seek me out—for he would recognize in me an avenging parent. A Nemesis, young man! It is inexpressibly painful to me to doubt your veracity, but I am forced against my will to say that I do not believe you. In fact, it has been borne in upon me that you lie as fast as a dog can trot, Mr Carrington. Or even faster! What a shocking thing that your revered parent—always such a high stickler—should have one son who is a profligate, and another—if you will pardon the expression!—a gull-catcher! And not even an expert in that delicate art!”

Simon strode across the room to the door, and wrenched it open. “Out!” he said.

Mr Steane continued to smile at him. “Certainly, certainly, if you insist!” he said affably. “But consider! Is it quite wise of you to insist? You have not thought fit to disclose my unfortunate child’s whereabouts to me, so there is no other course open to me than to repair to Wolversham, and to lay the facts of this distressing affair before your dear father. A course which I cannot feel that you would wish me to pursue, Mr Carrington.”

He was right. Inwardly seething, Simon was obliged to choke down his rage, and to search wildly in his brain for a way of escape from what he recognized as a dilemma. Not having seen Desford since he had parted from him at Inglehurst, he was in ignorance of Desford’s meeting with his father, and on one point his determination was fixed: not through his agency was Lord Wroxton going to hear of the scrape Desford had got himself into. Lord Wroxton could be depended on to stand buff, but he would be furious with Desford for having, in the first place, befriended Cherry Steane, and in the second place for having made it necessary for him to treat with her father, or even to receive such a sneaking rascal in his house. If ever a flashy clever-shins meant mischief, Simon thought, this one did! And who knew what mischief he might be able to work, except Desford himself? Simon did not for a moment believe that Des had made Cherry an offer of marriage, but if Cherry, prompted by her father, asserted that he had done so a rare case of pickles it would be! Considering the Honourable Wilfred Steane with narrowed eyes, Simon thought that while his object might be to achieve a brilliant match for his daughter it was far more probable that his real aim was pecuniary gain. Would my Lord Wroxton tip over the hush-money to keep his proud name free from the sort of shabby scandal with which it might well be smirched? Yes, Simon thought, he would! Damn Des for going off the lord knew where at just such a moment! If this cunning fox were to be kept away from Wolversham, there was nothing for it but to disclose to him that so far from having been dumped in a fancy-house Cherry had been placed in the care of a lady of unimpeachable respectability. He was extremely reluctant to furnish Mr Steane with her precise direction, for not only had he an extremely vivid notion of what Lady Silverdale’s feelings would be if that genteel hedge-bird presented himself at Inglehurst, but for anything he knew Desford might by this time have removed Cherry to some other asylum. The obvious way out of the dilemma was to persuade Mr Steane to await Desford’s return to London: dash it all, it was he who had taken the wretched girl under his protection, and it was for him to decide whether or not to hand her over to her disreputable parent! But, whatever he did it was all Lombard Street to an eggshell that he would not, once he had set eyes on Mr Steane, present him to the Silverdale ladies.

The problem seemed to be insoluble, but just as Mr Steane said, in a voice of unctuous triumph: “Well, young man?” a brilliant idea shot into Simon’s head. He said, shrugging his shoulders: “Oh, very well! If you won’t take my word for it that your daughter is in safe hands, I shall be compelled to give you her direction, I suppose! Mind, I’m strongly tempted to urge you to visit my father—lord, what a settler he’d tip you!—but he ain’t in very plump currant at the moment, and it wouldn’t do him any good to fly into one of his pelters. It wouldn’t do you any good either, because he wouldn’t believe a word of your story. More likely to have you kicked out of the house! If you ever succeeded in entering it, which I’ll go bail you wouldn’t! He ain’t receiving anyone but his family, and his closest friends, until he’s in better cue, and you had as well go rabbit-hunting with a dead ferret as try to get past his butler! However, my mother wouldn’t like it above half if there was to be a brawl, so I will inform you that when Desford found that your father was gone out of town he escorted Miss Steane to Inglehurst—which is Lady Silverdale’s country house! She, let me further inform you, moves in the first circles, and is as starched-up as my father! So rid your mind of anxiety, Mr Steane!”