This frightful picture of the future made Adrian raise his head, and say forcefully: “No!”

“But what can we do?” asked Phoebe. “I cannot marry Deb.”

Miss Laxton turned pale. “Oh, you can never tell her so!” An appalled silence fell. His lordship got up, and began to pace about the room. “If I don’t tell her, we shall all three of us be made unhappy.”

“No, no! She will never know, and you will forget this!”

“I shall never forget!” said Adrian fiercely. “And I could not pretend to Deb. She would guess the truth.”

“But it would be such a dreadful thing for you to do!” whispered Phoebe.

His lordship was almost as pale as she. “Yes. I know,” he said. “But she has not said yet that she will marry me. Perhaps—perhaps she does not mean to.”

She looked astonished. “But I thought—you told me—”

“Yes, yes, but it was never said in so many words! She used to laugh at me when I asked her to marry me. Then—then it did seem to me that she had changed towards me, and I thought too—But it is true that she has never yet said it. Phoebe, do you think that she cares for me?”

“Oh, how can she not?” Phoebe exclaimed.

“Well, I do not think that she does. Lately she has been—oh, not cross, but—but different!”

A shocking thought presented itself to Miss Laxton.

“Adrian, can it be that she suspects, and is jealous, or—or hurt?”

Their eyes met; his lordship’s chin seemed to harden. “We must tell her the truth.”

Phoebe sprang up in some agitation. “No, no, I implore you! Only consider how frightful it must appear! She invited me to her house, and has been everything that is kind! How could I possibly steal you from her? I would rather die!”

His lordship quite saw the force of this argument, but he was not satisfied with it. “Yes, but you did not steal me,” he said. “We did not mean to fall in love! We could not help ourselves, and that she will surely understand! You are blameless at least! It is I who deserve to be horse-whipped!”

It was not to be expected that Miss Laxton could agree with this judgement. She began to argue the point, laying the blame at her own door, and finding all manner of excuses, for his lordship. He would not allow it, and the next few minutes were spent in a singularly profitless discussion, which might, indeed, have lasted for hours, had not his lordship perceived the uselessness of it, and silenced Miss Laxton by kissing her.

“Oh!” said Miss Laxton, burying her face in his coat. “If you do that, how can I behave as I ought? You must not, Adrian! Oh, please, you must not!”

“My conduct has been everything of the most damnable!” said his lordship, determined not to understate the case. “But it would be worse if I were to marry Deb. I have no doubts on that score. I must confess the whole to her, and throw myself on her generosity. If there had been an acknowledged engagement, the case would be hopeless indeed, for as a man of honour I could not draw back, exposing her to the world as a female who had been jilted. But it is not so! No one knows of the engagement but my mother and cousin. I cannot deceive Deb. I will not, indeed! She must be told the truth, and at once.”

“I am ready to sink!” declared Miss Laxton, grasping a chairback for support. “What will she think of me?”

“What will she think of me?” asked his lordship.

Happily for them both, Miss Grantham chose that moment to come back into the room. “Well, and is the race over?” she asked. “Have you come to the end of all your hairbreadth escapes, or am I too soon?”

Miss Laxton turned away to stare into the fire. Lord Mablethorpe braced himself, and said resolutely: “We have not been talking about the race, Deb. There is something I must say to you.”

“No!” whispered Miss Laxton faintly, as one in honour bound.

His lordship ignored this small protest. “I do not know what you will think of me, Deb. There can be no words bad enough to describe my conduct!”

“No, no! Mine!” gasped Miss Laxton.

“Phoebe is blameless,” said his lordship manfully. “You will realize that, I know, however hardly you may think of me! She would have had you remain in ignorance of the whole! But I cannot! I am determined to tell you the truth, for I am persuaded that nothing but misery could come of keeping it from you!”

Miss Grantham’s sense of humour got the better of her at this point, and, tottering towards a chair, she sank into it, exclaiming in tragic accents: “Oh heavens! I am betrayed!”

His lordship blenched; both he and Miss Laxton regarded her with guilty dismay.

Miss Grantham buried her face in her handkerchief, and uttered one shattering word: “Wretch!”

His lordship swallowed, and squared his shoulders. “I am aware in what an odious light my conduct must appear to you, and I cannot attempt to excuse it,” he said. “Only, I did not mean to do it: it was something I could not help, Deb, indeed, it was! And I thought you had rather I told you than—than—”

Miss Grantham gave a shriek. “You have trifled with me!” she said, into the folds of her handkerchief. “You promised me marriage, and now you mean to cast me off for Another!”

Lord Mablethorpe and Miss Laxton exchanged stricken glances.

“I never thought I should live to be slighted!” pursued Miss Grantham. “Oh, was ever any defenceless female so deceived?”

Lord Mablethorpe and Miss Laxton instinctively held hands for mutual support. “Oh no, do not say so!” implored Phoebe. “He will soon forget me!”

“Do not let him deceive you, my unhappy child!” said Miss Grantham. “He will cast you aside as he has cast me! Oh, to think that I should have given my poor heart to a rake!”

“Deb!” exclaimed his lordship, horrified. “I’m not! Indeed, I’m not! And you never said you would marry me! It is not as though—”

“My whole life is blighted!” said Miss Grantham, in a hollow voice. “I shall very likely go into a decline!”

“Deb!” said his lordship, in quite a different voice. “Well, upon my word! Deb, if you don’t stop this instant, I’ll—I’ll shake you!”

Miss Grantham raised her head, and mopped her streaming eyes. “Oh Adrian, you foolish boy!” she said. “What in the world did you think I threw you together for, if not for this? I never had the least intention of marrying you!”

This disclosure astonished Miss Laxton so much that she was quite unable to do more than gaze at her hostess. Lord Mablethorpe, however, drew a sigh of heartfelt relief, and grinned. “It’s just like you to roast me! Somehow, I could not help thinking that you did not care for me. But I have behaved very badly to you, and I know it.”

“My poor boy, I fear that it is you who have been the victim. Don’t give it another thought! I wish you both very happy, and I am sure you were made for one another. Indeed, I feel that I have made up an unexceptionable match between you! We have now only to consider what is to be done next.”

Miss Laxton, recovering from her stupor, cast herself upon Deborah’s bosom, crying: “Oh, you are so good to me! I feel so dreadfully at having done such a thing! How can you not wish to marry him?”

“It is very bad taste on my part, indeed,” admitted Miss Grantham. “Perhaps I was born to be a spinster. But do not let us talk about me, for I shall do very well, I assure you. We must decide what is best to be done with you. Your parents can have no objection, I imagine, to your marriage with Adrian.”

“I am not as rich as Filey. I have not the half of his wealth,” said his lordship, looking anxious.

“You are not precisely a pauper, however. I call it a very good match, and so, I am persuaded, will Lord Laxton.”

“My brother Arnold told me that Sir James would do something very handsome for the family,” faltered Phoebe. “I do not know what it is, but I fancy Papa has sustained severe losses lately, besides what my brothers owe.”

“Well, so will I do something handsome,” said his lordship stoutly. A shade of uneasiness crept across his face. “When I am of age,” he added, in a rather flattened voice.

“Nonsense!” said Miss Grantham. “I do not wish to offend you, Phoebe, but I am not at all in favour of anything’s being done for your family. I see no reason why Adrian should be made to pay for the follies of your Papa and your brothers.”

This aspect of the case had not previously occurred to Miss Laxton, but upon reflection she found herself to be in complete agreement with it. “No, indeed! It would be very bad! I could not consent to such a thing. But what is to be done? My Papa will not care a fig for anything but the money!”

Lord Mablethorpe felt at this point that the discussion could better be continued in Miss Laxton’s absence. He said that it was too late to think of ways and means that evening, but that he should call in St James’s Square next day, and talk the matter over thoroughly. Miss Grantham, catching a significant glance thrown in her direction, rose instantly to the occasion, and said that this was a wise decision, and that she thought it was high time Phoebe was in bed. She then left the young couple to bid one another a fond good night, only returning to the saloon when she had seen Phoebe to her room, and put her into the hands of the abigail.

She found Lord Mablethorpe walking about the room, his brow clouded with thought. She shut the door, and came to the fire, seating herself by it, and saying in her sensible way: “Well; now, let us contrive a little! Do you fancy the engagement will not be received with pleasure by the Laxtons? I cannot credit it!”

He looked a little rueful. “I fear it, Deb. I have been setting a few inquiries afoot, and there seems to be no doubt that Laxton is pretty well done-up.”