He arrived to find the elder Miss Scorton sitting with Kitty and Olivia, and Kitty could have laughed aloud to see the look of chagrin that flickered in his eyes. But Olivia’s cousin Eliza, a kind, vulgar spinster of uncertain age and romantic disposition, had no notion of spoiling sport. She had indeed come to bear Olivia company on her way home, but one glance at the Chevalier’s excellent riding-dress and indefinable air of affluence was enough to convince her that here was a possible parti for her beautiful little cousin who combined wealth with attributes still more alluring to the female mind; and she lost no time in breaking into a voluble explanation of the several reasons which made it inconvenient for her to take Olivia back to Hans Crescent for at least an hour. She then took leave of Miss Charing, and departed, but not, rather unfortunately, before Lady Buckhaven came in. Meg received her protestations with civility, but coolly; and when she and Kitty were presently left alone she said, in a pet, that she wished Kitty would not invite such vulgar creatures to her house.

Kitty was contrite, but she was able to assure her hostess that Miss Scortori had no notion of encroaching. “She came only to escort Olivia home, you know. But, Meg, did you observe my cousin? I declare to you he no sooner clapped eyes on Olivia than he had no eyes for anyone else! It is the most famous thing!”

But Meg did not think it a famous thing at all. “Of course I observed your cousin, and I must say, Kitty, I think it is foolish beyond permission to encourage such a thing! The Chevalier and a girl with such low connections? You must be mad to think of it!”

“Oh, fiddle!” Kitty said. “You will own that her birth is respectable, and as for her connections, why, Camille will take her away to France, and they need never be troubled by Mrs. Broughty, or the Scortons!”

“You can know nothing of relations if that is what you think!” said Meg tartly. “Good gracious, I wonder that Freddy will let you make such a goosecap of yourself!”

Miss Charing refrained from explaining that it was not in Mr. Standen’s power to control any of her actions. She guessed that Meg would lose no time in telling Freddy, and was fully prepared to counter opposition from that quarter.

But Freddy, rubbing his nose as he always did when at a stand, merely said in a thoughtful voice: “Shouldn’t wonder if you were to catch cold at that, Kit.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Don’t think it’ll fadge,” said Freddy.

“Oh, you are thinking of those dreadful Scortons, I daresay! I own, if Camille were an Englishman it might not do, but consider!—he is here only upon a visit, and it is not to be supposed that Mrs. Broughty or her sister will for ever be journeying into France! Indeed, I should be astonished if they went there at all! To Olivia herself there can be not the least objection!”

“Got a notion Mrs. Broughty won’t like it,” said Freddy.

She stared at him. “Dut why should she not? Desides, I have learnt that Camille was received by her when he drove Olivia to Hans Crescent that day, and nothing could have exceeded her affability!”

Freddy looked vaguely distressed, and rubbed his nose harder than ever. “But, Freddy—!”

In Freddy’s pocket there nestled a brief note from Lord Legerwood, informing him that he could discover no noble French family bearing the patronymic of Evron. “Of ‘my uncle the Marquis,’ “ wrote Lord Legerwood, “there is no discoverable trace. One feels that the creation of this peer was a mistake. One is further tempted to hazard the conjecture that your Chevalier may well prove to be a chevalier d’industrie. ...”

Freddy looked at Miss Charing, whose innocent eyes were fixed enquiringly upon his face, and coloured. “French, y’know!” he said. “Been at war with the Frogs so long—!”

Miss Charing was satisfied, and laughed away such doubts. Freddy, foreseeing that Mrs. Broughty, as well as himself, might be inspired to make certain enquiries, perceived shoals ahead, and looked unhappier than ever. His sister would have been glad had she been able to persuade him to remonstrate with his betrothed on her friendship with Olivia; for although Mrs. Broughty, content to have insinuated her daughter into the genteel stronghold of the Buckhaven mansion, did not herself attempt to gain the entree there, Meg lived in constant dread that she would one day do so. She told Freddy that she feared to be dragged into the Scorton’set: if Mrs. Broughty presented herself in Berkeley Square she would not know how to refuse her admittance. Freddy replied, in a practical spirit, that such knowledge was unnecessary. “Only have to tell Skelton you ain’t at home: he’ll do the rest. Dash it, that’s what butlers are for!”

“Oh, well, if you don’t care for me,” said Meg crossly, “I wonder you should not care for Kitty’s getting herself into d scrape, as she very likely will!”

“Don’t see why she should,” responded Freddy obstinately. Meg was in low spirits, suffering from the little malaises of pregnant women, which made her say with a fretfulness alien to her character: “How can you be so stupid? That sort of thing always leads to trouble! It is all kindness, and I am sure I am quite as sorry for Miss Broughty as anyone, but one cannot make a friend of everybody in distressing circumstances! Only, Kitty has been about the world so little she does not understand, and you do not make the least push to set her right!”

“Yes, I do!” said Freddy, stung by this unjust remark. “If it hadn’t been for me, she’d have been going all over town in that devilish hat you told her was all the crack!”

“It was all the crack!” exclaimed Meg, sitting upright on the sofa in her indignation. “Only you are so gothic and stuffy! You would not let her purchase it, just because you had never seen one of the new jockey-bonnets before! So I did, and it has been very much admired, let me tell you!”

“What?” ejaculated Freddy, roused to real dismay. “Good God, Meg, you ain’t such a sapskull as to put a lilac coal-scuttle on that yaller head of yours?”

“A great many persons of exquisite taste,” his sister informed him in trembling accents, “have told me that I look excessively becomingly in it!”

“A great many gapeseeds!” said Freddy witheringly. “It’s time m’mother left the young ‘uns to Nurse to look after, and stopped you making a figure of yourself! No, really, Meg! Might consider me, you know! Might consider Mama, too! Do us credit!”

“Like Kitty! Permitting you to tell her what she may wear, and what she may not! I wonder she will listen to you!”

“Sensible little thing, Kit,” said Freddy. “Does do me credit! M’father was saying so only the other day.”

“Well, she does look remarkably well, I own,” said Meg, “but in one way, Freddy—and I don’t say it out of spite, for I love her dearly!—she doesn’t do you any credit at all. And Mama has heard of it, for she is not still looking after the children, and she asked me if it were true, and what could be the meaning of it? Of course I turned it off, and indeed I don’t believe a word of it, but—why does she let Dolph attach himself to her so particularly?”

But here Freddy felt himself to be upon acutely assailable ground, and he beat a retreat. A visit to Mount Street the following day did nothing to heal the wound to his amour propre, for although Lord Legerwood made no reference whatsoever to the intrusions of Dolphinton, Lady Legerwood was not similarly reticent. In deep concern, she informed him that the few particular friends to whom she had confided the news of his engagement were quite in a puzzle to know what to think of Miss Charing’s predilection for Lord Dolphinton’s society. It was not, therefore, surprising that when, a few days later, Mr. Standen, bowling along Piccadilly in his tilbury, reached the bottom of Old Bond Street in time to see Miss Charing, accompanied by Lord Dolphinton, enter the portals of the Egyptian Hall, upon the south side of the street, he should have been moved to pull up abruptly, to consign his carriage to the care of his groom, and to cross Piccadilly in a purposeful manner.

The Egyptian Hall, which had been erected four years previously, was otherwise known as Bullock’s Museum, and contained curiosities from the South Seas, from North and South America; a collection of armoury, and works of art; find had lately received, as an additional attraction, the Emperor Napoleon’s travelling-carriage. Its cognomen was derived from the style of its architecture, which included inclined pilasters ornamented with hieroglyphics. It was an imposing edifice, but it had not previously tempted Mr. Standen to inspect its many marvels. Nor, when he had penetrated beyond the vestibule, did he waste time in studying the exhibits tastefully arranged around the walls. The only object in which he was interested was found seated primly upon a chair, a catalogue in her gloved hands, and her gaze fixed thoughtfully upon the model of a Red Indian chief in full panoply of war. Of Lord Dolphinton there was no sign, a circumstance which caused Mr. Standen to exclaim, quite contrary to his intention: “Well, if this don’t beat the Dutch! First the fellow brings you to a devilish place like this, and then he dashed well leaves you here!”

“Freddy!” cried Miss Charing, jumping almost out of her skin.

“And don’t you say Freddy to me!” added Mr. Standen severely. “I told you I wouldn’t have it, Kit, and I dashed well meant it! Have the whole town talking!”

Kitty looked very much bewildered, but as it was plain that Mr. Standen was filled with righteous wrath she refrained from protest, merely saying in a small, doubtful voice: “Frederick? Should I, in public, call you Mr. Standen?”