“If ever I knew such a fellow!” exclaimed Kit, in a rallying tone. “Either you’re in alt, or in flat despair!” He laid a hand on Evelyn’s knee, and gripped it. “You’re not quite knocked up, you gudgeon! I shall try to see my uncle before I leave England, and though I don’t yet know just what I shall tell him you may depend upon it that your part in my story will be positively saintly!”

“If you try to pitch it as rum as that, he’ll smell out a hoax immediately!” Evelyn interrupted, laughing in spite of himself.

“Not at all! I fancy you sacrificed your own interests to further mine—and that he will believe. It won’t do to say anything about Miss Askham, and I don’t mean to. You will have to wait for a period, but not for very long, if you will but stop committing what he calls extravagant follies. Spend more of your time here, twin, and interest yourself in the estate! In fact, interest yourself to such a pitch that he’ll be only too glad to relinquish his authority! Urge improvements, demand information—pester him! Add a melancholy air to your demeanour, as though you had suffered a disappointment, and ten to one he’ll be so much concerned that he’ll greet with relief your engagement to Miss Askham!”

He spoke with a gay confidence which amused Evelyn, and served, for the moment, to put up his spirits; but he was not himself convinced. He knew his uncle’s inflexible nature too well to believe that he could be easily persuaded; nor was he able to entertain any hopes that he would look with favour upon Evelyn’s marriage to one whom he would infallibly consider a nobody. Knowing his twin, he entertained almost as little hope that Evelyn would adhere for any length of time to the line of conduct he had suggested to him. His disposition was too impetuous, his spirits too volatile, to enable him to wait, enduring boredom and frustration with patience. He would fall into one of his fits of despair, and seek alleviation in sprees and revel-routs.

It was therefore in a mood of considerable anxiety that Kit at last left his twin, and walked slowly back to the house, cudgelling his brain to discover a way to overcome difficulties which bore all the appearance of being insuperable. He began to feel almost as depressed as Evelyn, and was not cheered by the intelligence, imparted to him by Norton, upon his entering the house, that Miss Stavely had driven out with the Dowager. By way of solace, Norton offered him the newspapers, the post having come in some time previously.

It had brought no letters for Evelyn, but several for Lady Denville, and two franked by Lord Stavely, and addressed to his mother and his daughter.

Cressy was carrying her letter when she entered Lady Denville’s drawing-room, and she said, as she shut the door: “Godmama, I have had such good news from Papa! Albinia was brought to bed on Tuesday, and was delivered of a son! Papa is so delighted! He writes very briefly—just to tell me that it is a very fine child, and Albinia going on prosperously, in spite of a difficult labour.” She broke off suddenly perceiving that Lady Denville had been crying. She went swiftly forward, falling on her knees beside her ladyship’s chair, and saying: “What is it? Dearest, dearest Godmama, what has happened?”

Lady Denville made a huge effort to pull herself together, responding, with a valiant smile: “Why, nothing in the world, dear child! What was that you said? Your father has a son? Well, that is charming—at least, I suppose one must say it is, though for my part I consider he should have been content with his daughter, for it isn’t as though he had no brothers to succeed him, and I cannot think that any son of Albinia Gillifoot’s will be anything but an odious child!”

Cressy gave an involuntary giggle, but said: “Never mind that! Only tell me what has happened to distress you, ma’am!” Her eyes fell upon a closely written sheet of paper, lying on the table at Lady Denville’s elbow. “You have received disturbing news, ma’am? I do most sincerely trust you—you haven’t suffered a bereavement? One of your sisters, or your brothers?”

“Oh no, nothing of that nature!” Lady Denville assured her. “Much, much worse! Of course, I should be excessively sorry to hear that any of them had died, but I shouldn’t cry about it, because I hardly ever see any of them, and Baverstock and Amelia I positively dislike! To own the truth, it made me feel very low when I saw Evelyn this morning. Just when Kit had made me so happy, too! Dearest Cressy, indeed I am overjoyed! You are the very wife for my darling Kit, and so I’ve been thinking for the past sennight!”

Emerging from her ladyship’s scented embrace, Cressy blushed, laughed, and said: “Thank you, ma’am! I hope I may prove you right! I only know that he is the very husband for me! But why did it make you feel low to see Evelyn? Do you fear he may be worse injured than Kit thinks?”

“Oh no, I shouldn’t think so! To be sure, he does look rather pulled, poor lamb, but that’s nothing! Cressy, did Kit tell you about Miss Askham?”

“To be sure he did! I understand she is a very beautiful and—and sweet girl!”

 “Well, she maybe,” said Lady Denville doubtfully. “But her name is Patience!”

“How pretty!” said Cressy, in encouraging accents. “Rather—rather Quakerish, and refreshingly unusual!”

“Do you think so?” Lady Denville grew still more doubtful. “But I fear she is Quakerish, Cressy, and, try as I will, I cannot feel that she will suit Evelyn! You know, my love—and I can say this to you now, without any hiding of the truth!—the girls he has previously fallen in love with have all been very lively and dashing!”

Cressy smiled. “But he has quite quickly fallen out of love with them,, hasn’t he, ma’am? Perhaps—being so dashing himself?—a quiet, gentle girl will suit him much better. I believe it is often so.”

“Yes, that is what Kit says. Kit thinks that this time Evelyn has formed a lasting passion, and of course Kit knows him as no one else does. But if he wanted a quiet girl I can’t conceive why he couldn’t have fallen in love with you, dearest! It seems so capricious of him! Not that I grudge you to Kit, for Evelyn is not my favourite son, whatever Kit may say. I love them both equally, and so he knows! The thing is that Evelyn is closer to me, because we have always lived together; but Kit is so much more dependable, and the greatest comfort to me! And I should think,” she added reflectively, “that he will make a charming husband.”

“Yes, so do I,” agreed Cressy, her eyes warm with amusement. She clasped one of Lady Denville’s hands, and ventured to say: “I feel, too, that Miss Askham will make a charming wife.”

“No,” said her ladyship decidedly. “Not charming, Cressy! A good wife, I dare say—in fact, I am sure of it, and it does make me feel very low, because she sounds to me to be such an insipid girl!”

Cressy patted her hand. “Oh no, I am persuaded you won’t think her so! I expect she is shy merely.”

Lady Denville looked at her in an awed way. “Cressy, she has been reared on the strictest principles, and her mama is full of propriety, and Evelyn says that they are all of them truly good and saintly! Indeed, he described Patience to me as an angel! Well, dearest, I wouldn’t for a moment deny that that is—is most admirable, but I find saintly persons excessively uncomfortable, and I cannot live with an angel!”

“But must you live with her, ma’am?”

“No, and I don’t mean to. I told Evelyn so, when he offered for you, for it never answers! Only, when I began to think of living by myself—Cressy, do you think I could afford to do so? I should be obliged to buy a house, for I don’t feel I could hire one; and I will not live in some dreadful, shabby-genteel quarter of the town, or miles and miles from anywhere, like Upper Grosvenor Place, where poor Augusta Sandhayes removed to when Sandhayes lost a great deal of money on ’Change and said they must hold household. And only think of the cost of the servants, and the carriages, and—and all the things I never have paid for!” Her eyes filled. “And when I consider that I have never been able to keep out of debt when I didn’t pay for such things, how could I possibly do so when I shall be obliged to?”

The question was unanswerable. Cressy sat back on her heels, a very thoughtful expression in her eyes, but she said nothing. The truth of Lady Denville’s words had struck home. She had not previously considered the matter; but she was well enough acquainted with her ladyship to realize that the income necessary to maintain her in the style to which she was accustomed must be far in excess of even the most handsome jointure. She realized, too, having a great deal of commonsense, that it would be folly to suppose that she would reduce her expenditure: she was quite incapable of doing so.

As though she had read the thought in Cressy’s mind, Lady Denville said: “It is of no use to tell me I must practise economy, because I can’t! Whenever I have tried to do so it has only led to much more expense. Denville’s sister—a most disagreeable woman, my love, besides being a nipcheese, which is much worse than being extravagant, because it makes everyone uncomfortable, on account of not employing a second footman, and serving horrid dinners—was used to prick at me, and instruct me in habits of economy, and I perceived then that I could never bring myself to practise such habits. I must own I could only be thankful when she died, for she never met me but what she asked me how much my dress had cost, and then said that I could have had one made for less than half the price. I know I could, but nothing would induce me to. You see, Cressy, ever since my come-out, people have said I was the best-dressed woman in London, and whenever I have gone to a party they looked to see what I was wearing, and how my hair was dressed, and—and copied me. I’ve led fashion, and I still do, so I couldn’t go to parties now, looking like a dowd! It is not that I am vain—at least, I don’t think I am—but—well, I can’t explain it to you! I dare say you might not understand—though you are always very well dressed yourself, dear one!”