She laughed. “No, how should I be so foolish? I dare say you could be excessively romantic, if you wished to be, and as for having one foot in the grave, pooh!”

“But I fancy you did think so, when first we met?” he said quizzically.

She coloured. “Yes, it is true, but that was before I became properly acquainted with you.”

“Tell me, Miss Wantage, do you consider me past the age of thinking of marriage?”

She looked up. “No, indeed! Why, have you some such notion?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Her dimples peeped. “Then, of course, you must become romantic, Mr Tarleton! Females are so silly, you know, that they much prefer romance to solid worth!”

He pulled a grimace. “Solid worth! Of all abominable phrases! Do you remember telling me once that you thought runaway marriages the best? Are you still of the same mind?”

She stifled a sigh. “Yes. That is, it is the only kind of marriage for me. I do not think it would suit you, however! Do you think I shall ever be able to drive a team, Mr Tarleton?”

“Yes. I would willingly teach you.”

“I never met anyone I dealt with so extremely as you!” she said, laughing. “But I am sure I should not be allowed to! I expect it is not the thing at all.”

“Who cares?” he returned. “I am not such a prosy old fellow as to be for ever thinking of what is the thing, I assure you!” He glanced down at her profile. “You have never told me anything about yourself, Miss Wantage. I collect you are not related to Lady Saltash?”

“No,” she replied.

“Forgive me if I seem to you impertinent! But I see you living a life that must be unsuited to one of your youth and natural spirits, and I — ”

“Lady Saltash is everything that is kind!” she said. “Indeed, I am under no inconsiderable obligation to her, and if I have seemed to you to be ungrateful — ”

“Ungrateful! No, indeed! I have been much struck by your constant attentions to her. I have the greatest regard for Lady Saltash, but I cannot believe that you are happy in Camden Place.”

She was silent, her colour much heightened. After a short pause, he continued: “Do you mean to remain permanently in your present position?”

She started. “Oh, no! It would be impossible, for I have not the least claim on Lady Saltash! Already I feel that I have trespassed on her kindness for too long. I do not — I am not perfectly certain what I shall do, but you must know that I was trained to become a governess, and — and it was with the object of finding an eligible situation in some seminary that I came to Bath.”

“A governess! You!” he exclaimed. “You are not serious! You cannot mean me to believe that you wish for such an existence!”

A rather melancholy smile trembled on her lips. “Oh, no! I shall dislike it of all things! In fact, I once said that I would do anything rather than become one! But if I do find such a post perhaps it will not be so very bad after all.”

“Have you no relatives to provide for you?” he asked. “You are so young! Surely there must be someone — a guardian, perhaps — whose business it must be to take care of you?”

“No, there is no one — at least, I have a cousin who gave me a home when my father died, but she could not house me for ever, you see, and to tell you the truth I did not like her, nor she me.”

“I had not imagined that this could be so,” he said, in a moved tone. “I had thought — This alters things indeed!” He smiled, as she looked up inquiringly, and said: “No wonder you dream of romance and adventure! You should be called Cinderella, I think!”

Her mouth quivered. She replied: “It is odd that you should say so. I have sometimes thought that too. You do not know the whole, and I cannot tell it to you just now, though perhaps one day I may. I — I was very like Cinderella.”

“Except that no Prince has yet come with a glass slipper for you to try on your foot!” he said.

She was silent, her attention apparently fixed on the road ahead, her face still a little flushed. When she did speak, it was with a touch of constraint, and only to say that she fancied it must be time they were thinking of a return to Camden Place. He agreed at once, for he thought her embarrassment arose from maidenly shyness. He said gently: “Was it very dull and disagreeable in your cousin’s house, Cinderella?”

She smiled at that. “Yes, odiously dull! And she has three daughters, and they are all of them quite shockingly plain, though perhaps not plain enough to be called the Ugly Sisters!”

“And did they go to parties while you stayed at home and swept out the kitchen?”

“Well, not quite as bad as that, for I was not out, you know! I do think they were not always very kind to me, but I dare say it was tiresome for them to be obliged to have me.”

“I hope they may every one of them die a spinster!”

“Oh, no, how spiteful!” she protested.

“You dreamed of romance, and they made you a governess! I cannot forgive them! You must have your romance in despite of them! How would you like to be carried off, married out of hand, cosseted and cared for by a husband who would adore you — ah, the happy-ever-after ending, in effect? Is that not what you have dreamed of?”

“All girls do,” she said, in a constricted tone. “At least, when they are very young and foolish, they do. But — but real life is not quite like the fairy-tales.”

“But you were made to live a fairy-tale life, and I am determined you must do so!”

She raised her candid eyes to his face, and said simply: “Please do not, Mr Tarleton! I know you are only funning, but — but I would rather you did not!”

“I will do nothing to displease you,” he promised. “Shall I see you at the Dress Ball at the Lower Rooms tomorrow night?”

“I — I am not perfectly certain. I believe not.”

“Oh, that is too unkind!” he teased. “Did you not promise to let me put your name down for the minuet? I shall certainly do so before I leave Bath this evening. You will not be so cruel as to leave me without a lady to stand up with!”

She returned a light answer; he continued to talk easily on a number of trivial topics for the remainder of the drive; and set her down in Camden Place more enchanted than ever with her, and resolved upon a course of action fantastic enough to have appealed to the silliest damsel ever discovered between the marbled covers of a circulating library novel.

It was when Hero was returning on foot from Milsom Street later in the afternoon, that she fell in with George. She had been executing a commission for Lady Saltash, and he at once relieved her of her parcel, and insisted on escorting her back to Upper Camden Place. They had just crossed Bennet Street when Sherry’s curricle swept round the corner from Belmont. His start, and the expression of frozen amazement on his face were not lost on Hero; and as it did not occur to her (or for that matter, to George) that his astonishment was due not so much to seeing her as her companion, the last shreds of hope that he might have come to Bath to search for her were banished from her mind. While Sherry was disentangling his curricle from the phaeton, she hurried on towards Russell Street, almost dragging George with her. Himself no mean whip, other considerations were momentarily lost with him in the contemplation of the wreckage Sherry had caused.

“Well, of all the cow-handed things to do!” he exclaimed.

In the midst of her misery Hero could not help laughing, although a little shakily, at the accident. “It was so like Sherry!” she said. “And I know he will say it was all that poor man’s fault! Oh, George, he did not think to see me here! You were right. I never saw him look more shocked! Oh, dear, why was I ever born?”

“Did you see who was with him?” George demanded. “Ferdy! He must have told him he was coming here, just as he told me! I must say, I had not thought Ferdy would have had sense enough to have come along too. Depend upon it, he will be calling in Camden Place within the hour! But what the deuce is to be done now, Kitten? The mischief is in it that he has seen me with you, and he will ask me for your direction. What would you have me say to him?”

She was unable to make up her mind; but when they reached Camden Place, Lady Saltash took the decision out of her hands, and instructed George to furnish Sherry with the information that Hero was at present residing with her.

Hero, who had been walking about the room in some agitation, paused to interject in a tone of strong resolution: “George, if he should ask you if I am happy, you are to tell him that I have no time to be anything else, for I am for ever going to parties, and balls, and concerts! And tell him that I am become Miss Wantage again! And should you mind very much, dear George, telling him that I have a great many admirers in Bath? And if you dare to let him guess that I miss him quite dreadfully I will never speak to you again as long as I live!”

George promised to obey her instructions to the letter; but he looked a little concerned, for he had never seen her face so ravaged. However, Lady Saltash appeared to approve of the commands laid upon him, so he thought he could not do better than to carry them out. Having a lively curiosity to see Ferdy, and being convinced that that young gentleman would shortly arrive in Camden Place, he lingered in Lady Saltash’s drawing room. He had not long to wait; within a surprisingly short space of time a hackney carriage set Ferdy down at the door. His fawnlike countenance bore such a hunted expression that even Hero could not help laughing, as she joined George at the window to watch the arrival.

But no stress of circumstance ever made Ferdy forget his exquisite manners, and when he was ushered into the room a minute later, nothing could have been more polished than his bow, or more graceful than the salute he bestowed on Lady Saltash’s hand.