Alverstoke, whose interest in Miss Merriville’s brothers was, at the best, tepid, murmured, in a voice which would have informed those who knew him best that he was rapidly becoming bored: “Ah? Yes, I seem to recall that when I had the felicity of making his acquaintance I formed the impression that he was — if not hunting-mad, decidedly horse-mad.”

“Oh, yes!” she agreed. “And every now and then he runs wild, just as he was used to do — only then his conscience never troubled him, and now it does!” She sighed, but, an instant later, smiled, and said: “I beg your pardon! I have been running on like a tattle-box.”

“Not at all!” he said politely.

“I know I have — and about something which is noconcern of yours. Never mind! I won’t do so any more.”

He was aware of feeling a twinge of remorse: it prompted him to say, in a warmer voice: “Do they worry you so much, these brothers of yours?”

“Oh, no! Sometimes — a little, because there’s no one but me, and I am only their sister, besides being a female. But they are very good!”

“Have you no male relatives? I think you spoke of some guardian, or trustee — a lawyer, isn’t he?”

“Oh, Mr Salcombe! Yes, indeed, he has been most helpful and kind, but he’s not a guardian. Papa didn’t appoint one, you see. We were in dread that the younger ones might be made Wards in Chancery, but Mr Salcombe contrived to avert that danger. I’ve heard people complain that lawyers are shockingly dilatory, but for my part I am excessively thankful for it! He kept on writing letters, and arguing about legal points, until Harry came of age, and could assume responsibility for the children. You would have supposed that he must have wished us all at Jericho, for it went on for months, but he seemed to enjoy it!”

“I don’t doubt it! He appears to have your interests at heart: doesn’t he keep a hand on the reins?”

“Manage the boys, do you mean? No: he is not — he is not the sort of person who understands boys. He is a bachelor, and very precise and oldfashioned. The boys call him Old Prosy, which is odiously ungrateful of them, but — well, you see?”

He smiled. “Most clearly!”

“And the only male relative we have is my Aunt Scrabster’s husband. I am only slightly acquainted with him, but I know he wouldn’t be of the least use. He is a very respectable man, but he’s town-bred, and all his interest is in commerce.”

“Unfortunate — but I daresay your brother Harry will relieve you of your care,” he said lightly.

There was an infinitesimal pause before she answered: “Yes, of course.”

The carriage was drawing up, and a moment later it came to a. halt in front of Lady Buxted’s house. He was glad of it. He had missed neither Frederica’s hesitation nor the note of constraint in her voice, and he had thought that it would not be long before she demanded his advice, and even his active help, in the task of guiding her young brothers. She was quite capable of it; and while he was just as capable of withering any such attempt with one of his ruthless set-downs he did not much wish to do this. He liked her. She was unusual, and therefore diverting; she was not a beauty, but she had a good deal of countenance, and an air of breeding which pleased him; and her sister was a ravishing diamond whom he was perfectly willing to sponsor into the ton. There would be flutters in more dovecots than the one he was about to enter, and that would provide him with some entertainment.

Lady Buxted was at home, and in the drawing-room, her two elder daughters bearing her company. When the visitors were announced, she rose in her stateliest way, and rather deliberately set aside the tambour-frame which held her embroidery before moving forward to meet Frederica. She favoured her with a hard stare, two-fingers, and a cold how-do-you-do. Frederica showed no signs of discomposure. She just touched the fingers (as Alverstoke noted with approval), dropping a slight curtsy as she did so, and saying, with her frank smile: “How do you do, ma’am? Cousin Alverstoke has been so obliging as to bring me to call on you, which I have been anxious to do — to thank you for your kindness, in being willing to lend us your countenance! My sister would have come with me, but she is laid up with a feverish cold, and begs me to offer her apologies.”

Lady Buxted thawed a little. She had by this time taken inevery detail of Frederica’s appearance; and the harrowing suspicion that Miss Merriville would prove to be one of those ripe and dashing beauties to whom Alverstoke was so regrettably attracted, vanished. Having realized that Frederica was neither a beauty nor in the first bloom of her youth, her ladyship was able to regard her with an impartial eye, and even to do justice to her. She would have nothing to blush for in her protégée: the girl had pretty manners, a certain air of breeding, and she was dressed with neatness and propriety. So it was quite graciously that her ladyship told her daughters that they must come and be made known to their cousin; and while the three young ladies made rather laborious conversation she drew Alverstoke a little apart, saying that Frederica seemed a well-behaved girl, and that she would do her best for her.

“I do not, however, engage to find a husband for her,” she warned him. “With no fortune, and no extraordinary degree of beauty, she cannot expect to make more than a respectable marriage, you know. If she hopes to find a husband by moving in the first circles, she is flying too high.”

“Oh, I shan’t ask that of you!” responded Alverstoke. “You will have enough to do finding a husband for Jane, I daresay.”

Only the reflection that the bills for Jane’s finery had already reached considerable proportions made it possible for Lady Buxted to keep her tongue between her teeth. But however uncertain might be her temper, her passion for funding her money was unwavering. She certainly cast her brother an angry glance, but said nothing, merely walking away from him to seat herself on the sofa, where she invited Frederica to join her.

The visit lasted for only half-an-hour; and although Lady Buxted asked Frederica a great many questions she maintained her formal manner, offered no refreshment, and made no effort to detain her when she rose to take her leave. Nor did she invite her to bring Charis to Grosvenor Place; but she did say that she must try to find time to call on Miss Winsham one day. Frederica, who answered her questions with cool reserve, detecting in them more curiosity than kindness, said, with a smile on her lips and a dangerous sparkle in her eyes, that this intelligence would cast her aunt into transports of delight; whereupon Alverstoke chuckled, and murmured: “Served with your own sauce, Louisa!”

He then bowed with exaggerated civility, and followed Frederica out of the room, leaving his sister and his nieces to marvel at his interest in a commonplace female (for girl no one could call her!) who had too much self-consequence, and was plainly above herself.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Frederica confessed, when Alverstoke took his place beside her in the carriage.

“Oh, why not? You took the wind out of her eye very prettily!”

“It wasn’t pretty of me to have done it, because she is going to introduce Charis to society — and I’m persuaded she doesn’t wish to do so!” Frederica turned her head to direct one of her disconcerting looks at him. “Did you — did you compel her, sir?”

“How should I be able to do that?” he countered.

“I don’t know, but I fancy you could. And I don’t think it was out of good-nature, or a wish to please you, because — ”

“You are mistaken,” he interrupted, a sardonic curl to his mouth. “She has a very earnest desire to please me.”

She continued to look searchingly at him, and said, after a moment or two: “Well, I don’t like it! And she won’t like it when she sees Charis! No mother would, who had such a plain-faced daughter to present as Jane!”

“Are you going to cry off, then?”

She thought this over, saying presently, in a resolute tone: “No; if it were for myself, I would, but I’m determined Charis shall have her chance. I beg your pardon for not speaking more respectfully about your sister, but the prying questions she asked me put me all on end! I won’t say any more.”

“Don’t refrain on my account! There’s no love lost between us.”

“None?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Not a particle! Tell me, fair cousin: is the waltz danced in the wilds of Herefordshire?”

“In some houses it is, but not very much, and there are never any quadrilles. So I have hired a dancing-master to come to teach us the steps — that we shan’t disgrace you by appearing as country cousins.”

“That does relieve my mind!”

“It might well — except that I fancy you don’t care a straw how we may appear.”

“On the contrary! Think how much my credit would suffer!”

She laughed, but shook her head. “You don’t care for that either. Or — or for anything, perhaps.”

He was momentarily taken aback by this, but he replied without perceptible hesitation: “Not profoundly.”

She frowned, turning it over in her mind. “Well, I can understand that that must be very comfortable, for if you don’t care for anybody or anything you can’t be cast into dejection, or become sick with apprehension, or even get into high fidgets. On the other hand, I shouldn’t think you could ever be aux anges either. It wouldn’t do for me: it would be too flat!” She turned her head to survey him again, and suddenly smiled. “I daresay that is why you are so bored!”

“I am frequently bored,” he acknowledged. “Nevertheless, I — er — contrive to keep myself tolerably well amused!”