“It would indeed,” agreed Miss Wychwood. “Besides condemning you both to a lifetime of regret!”

“Well, I know, but I didn’t really mean it!” growled Ninian. “All the same, I’d as lief be shackled to you as submit tamely to such an unreasonable order as this, and that I do mean!”

To Miss Wychwood’s relief, Lucilla took this in perfectly good part. She said: “I must say, it is enough to drive anyone to desperation. It isn’t even as though you had been an undutiful son, for the case has been far otherwise. And what seems to be most extraordinary is that he never kicked up such a dust when you were trying to fix your interest with that female in London, and she was by far more improper than I am, wasn’t she?”

He cast her a fulminating glance. “I’ll tell you this, Lucy! It will be well for you to learn to keep your tongue between your teeth! Besides, you know nothing about it! I was not trying to fix my interest with her! A mere flirtation! Bachelor’s fare! You wouldn’t understand, but you may depend upon it my father did!”

“Well, if he understood that, why doesn’t he understand this?”Lucilla asked reasonably. “It seems to me to be quite addle-brained!”

“It seems to me,”interposed Miss Wychwood, “as though Lord Iverley wrote to you when he was in too much of a flame to consider what might be the effect of sending you such an intemperate letter, Ninian. I daresay he will be sorry for it by now; and I am very sure that it came as a shock to him when he found himself in a quarrel with you, for I fancy that had never happened before. Nor do I doubt that, however little he may acknowledge it, he knows he has been at fault in his dealings with you and Lucilla. So, having been pandered—having had his own way for a great number of years, he was naturally put into a pelter when he met with opposition—particularly from you, my dear boy! You told us yourself that you had parted from him on the worst of bad terms, and I expect he was sadly hurt—”

“Yes, I did, but I was sorry for it later, and was meaning to go back, to beg his pardon, when his letter reached me! But I shan’t now! I could forgive his cutting at me,but the things he said about Lucy I cannot forgive—unless he withdraws them! It isn’t that I approved of her running off as she did, for I didn’t, but to accuse her of wanton behaviour, which he did, though I didn’t intend to repeat that, besides having sunk herself below reproach, is unjust, and unforgiveable!”

Keeping her inevitable reflections on Lord Iverley’s unwisdom to herself, Miss Wychwood responded, with soothing tact: “You will of course do what you feel to be best, but I cannot help feeling that you ought, in common civility, to send your father an answer to his letter—and not an angry one! If you already had the intention of going back to beg his pardon—”

“I had, but I haven’t that intention now!” he declared pugnaciously.

“When you’ve come out of the mops,” she said, smiling at him in a disarming way, “I am persuaded that your good sense will make you perceive the propriety of offering him an apology for having expressed yourself more forcefully than was becoming. I don’t think you should mention Lucilla at all, for what purpose could be served by your defending her against accusations which Lord Iverley must know very well are unjust? As for his summons to you, it would be foolish to refuse to obey it, for that, you know, would make you seem like a naughty little boy, shouting ‘I won’t!’ Far more dignified, don’t you agree, to write that you will of course return presently to Chartley, but that you have several engagements in Bath in the immediate future from which it would be grossly impolite to cry off.”

Much impressed by this worldly wisdom, he exclaimed: “By Jove, yes! That’s the dandy! I will write to him, exactly as you suggest! I should think it must make him ashamed, besides showing him that I am not a schoolboy but a grown man, not to be ordered about but to be treated with respect! What’s more, I’ll send my duty to Mama, though after the things she said to me—However, whatever they choose to do, I hope I am not one to rip up grievances!”

Miss Wychwood applauded this; and as they had reached Gay Street, took leave of him, recommending him, if he had nothing better to do, to stroll down to the Pump Room, where she and Lucilla were going as soon as they had executed some business, and done a little shopping. Since her object was to prevent his writing a reply to his father’s letter until his smouldering anger had had time to die down, she was glad to see that this suggestion found favour with him. When Lucilla, adding her helpful mite, told him that he would find her dear friend, Miss Corisande Stinchcombe, there, and charged him with a message for her, his clouded brow lightened perceptibly, and he went off quite happily down the hill. “Which,” Lucilla informed Miss Wychwood confidentially, “I had a notion would give his thoughts another direction, because I could see yesterday that he took a marked fancy to her!”

“Then it was very well done of you,” approved Miss Wychwood. “Which reminding him of his London-flirt was not!”

“No,” admitted Lucilla guiltily. “I knew I had said the wrong thing as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Though why he should have taken snuff at it I haven’t the least guess, for he told me all about her himself!”

Miss Wychwood was not obliged to enter into an explanation, because they had by this time mounted the flight of stairs that led to the Registry Office, recommended by Mrs Wardlow, who had engaged a highly respectable Young Person through its agency, to act as Second Housemaid in Camden Place, and was so well satisfied with the Young Person that she had no hesitation in directing her mistress to the office. Lucilla was too much overawed by the oppressive gentility of the proprietress to do more than agree with whatever Miss Wychwood suggested to her, and confided to that lady when they left the premises that the statuesque Mrs Poppleton had frightened her to death, so that she was deeply thankful her dear Miss Wychwood had been present to support her. “And when the maids she means to send to Camden Place to be interviewed come, you will be there, won’t you?” she said anxiously.

Reassured on this head, she tripped happily beside Miss Wychwood, and recklessly bought not one but two pairs of long kid gloves, which (she said) made her feel truly grown-up at last.

Since the Bath Season had hardly begun, the musicians who entertained the company every morning in the Pump Room during the full Season were not present, but a fair sprinkling of visitors was already in evidence. A somewhat depressingly large number of the visitors were valetudinarians, either hobbling about on sticks, being afflicted by gout or rheumatism; or elderly dyspeptics, hopefully seeking a cure for liver disorders arising from the excesses of their earlier years. There were also several dowagers, suffering from nervous disorders and from a conviction that a recital of their various ills, and the many treatments they had undergone must be of as much interest to those of their acquaintances whom they could contrive to buttonhole as they were to themselves. But as most of the confirmed invalids were attended by younger members of their families the assembly, which at first glance appeared to consist of crippled persons, stricken in years, included quite a number of young persons wholly unafflicted by the numerous ailments for which the Bath waters were considered to be an infallible remedy. For the most part, these attendants were females, but there were some exceptions, notably the fascinating Mr Kilbride, who, whenever (for financial reasons) he came to Bath on a visit to his grandmother, dutifully escorted her to the Pump Room, tenderly settled her in a chair, brought her a glass of the hot pump water, took immense pains to discover amongst the company one of her cronies, and, having inexorably led this unfortunate up to her, and seen him (or her) safely ensconced beside her, occupied himself for the rest of his stay in the Pump Room in strolling about, greeting chance acquaintances, and flirting lightheartedly with all the prettiest girls present.

Besides these seasonal visitors there were the residents, and the first of these on whom Miss Wychwood’s eyes fell, as she glanced round the Pump Room, was Lord Beckenham. He was talking to a lady in a preposterous hat, trimmed with several upstanding ostrich feathers, but as soon as he perceived Miss Wychwood he excused himself and purposefully threaded his way towards her between the several groups of people which separated them. Lucilla, having located Corisande Stinchcombe, darted away in her direction, and Miss Wychwood was left to Lord Beckenham’s mercy.

He greeted her with his usual punctiliousness, but almost immediately said, with a grave look, that he was excessively sorry to learn that her young friend’s visit had led to a disagreeable consequence. “I understand that Oliver Carleton has come to Bath, and that you have been obliged to receive him,” he said heavily. “It was inevitable, of course, that he should call in Camden Place, but I trust it was to make arrangements to remove his niece from Bath?”

“Oh, no, not immediately!” replied Miss Wychwood cheerfully. “That would certainly be a disagreeable consequence! I hope to have her company for some time yet. She is a delightful child—positively a ray of sunshine in the house!”

“I own she appeared to be an amiable girl, and I was favourably impressed by her manners,” he conceded, with a patronizing air which she found intolerable. “The danger attached to her visit is that you may find yourself obliged to become more closely acquainted with her uncle than can be thought desirable. You will not object to my venturing to give you a hint, I know.”