She brought with her a pretty bangle, set with pearls, and clasped it round Lucilla’s wrist, saying: “That’s a small gift, with my love—for your first party!”

“Oh!”gasped Lucilla. “Oh, Miss Wychwood, thank you! Oh, how pretty it is! How very kind you are to me! Look, Brigham!”

“Very pretty indeed, miss. Just the thing, if I may say so,” responded Brigham, casting the eye of an expert over Miss Wychwood’s attire.

She found nothing to criticize. Miss Wychwood was wearing a robe of celestial blue crape with an open front over a white satin slip. A sapphire necklace was clasped about her neck, and a sapphire spray was set in her burnished hair. She looked, Lucilla told her in awed accents, magnificent. She laughed at this, and protested at Lucilla’s choice of adjective, saying that it sounded as though she were overdressed for the occasion.

“Well—well, beautiful!”amended Lucilla.

“Then there are a pair of us,” said Miss Wychwood. “Let us go downstairs to dazzle Ninian! I’m told he arrived a few minutes ago.”

They found him awaiting them in the drawing-room. He had been invited to dinner, and it was evident that he had taken immense pains over his apparel. Lucilla exclaimed admiringly: “Oh, first-rate, Ninian! You are as fine as fivepence, I do declare! Isn’t he, ma’am?”

“Yes, indeed! A veritable Pink of the Ton!” said Miss Wychwood. “I am wholly spell-bound—particularly by the elegance of his neckcloth! How long did it take you to achieve anything so beautiful, Ninian?”

“Hours!” he replied, blushing. “It’s the Oriental, you know, and I do think I’ve succeeded pretty well with it. Now do, pray, stop poking bogey at me, ma’am!” He turned to pick up from the table on which he had laid them two tight posies, and presented them with awkward grace, saying: “Pray, ma’am, do me the honour to accept of these few flowers! And this one, Lucy, is for you!”

The ladies received these tributes with becoming gratitude, Lucilla being particularly struck by her posy’s being composed of pink and white hyacinths, a circumstance which made her exclaim: “How clever of you, Ninian! Did you guess that I was going to wear my pink gown?”

“Well, no!” he confessed. “But the girl who made the posies up for me asked what you looked like, and when I told her you were dark, and not yet out, she said that pink and white flowers would best become you. And I must say,” he added handsomely, looking her over, “pink does become you, Lucy! I never saw you look so pretty before!”

Miss Wychwood, admiring her own posy, which was made up of spring blossoms ranging in colour from palest mauve to deep purple, realized with an inward chuckle that Ninian had probably described her to the helpful florist as a lady somewhat stricken in years. She refrained from quizzing him, and, with even greater nobility, refrained from telling him that posies, tied up with long ribbons, wound round stalks encased in silver paper, however proper for balls, were not commonly carried by ladies at rout-parties.

Some two hours later she had the satisfaction of knowing that not only was her party a success, but so too was her protégée. She received her guests with Lucilla beside her, and had nothing to blush for in Lucilla’s manners. Not for the first time she handed a silent tribute to Mrs Amber, who, whatever her errors, had demonstrably instructed the child in all the rules governing polite behaviour. The wild rose colour that flushed her cheeks when she was embarrassed, and her occasional gaucheries did her no disservice in the eyes of Bath’s most influential hostesses, even old Mrs Mandeville, that most rigid critic, who had already gratified Annis by appearing at the rout, saying to her: “A nice gal, my dear. I don’t know where you picked her up, or why you’re sponsoring her, but if she’s a Carleton I should say that she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and you’ll have no difficulty in buckling her to an eligible gentleman!”

Mr Carleton was amongst the last to appear. Miss Wychwood had released Lucilla from her post at her side, but was herself still standing at the entrance to the drawing-room when he came leisurely up the stairs. Lord Beckenham, who, from the moment of his arrival, had been hovering solicitously about her, no sooner saw who was approaching than he withdrew immediately from her vicinity, muttering that it would be better if he and “that fellow” didn’t come face to face. His abrupt retreat did not escape Mr Carleton’s hawklike eyes; he said as he bowed slightly, and carried Miss Wychwood’s gloved hand to his lips: “If looks could kill I should be stretched lifeless on the threshold! How do you do, ma’am? Accept my felicitations on being able to hold such a brilliant Assembly thus early in the Season!” He put up his glass, and through it surveyed the crowded room. “All the rank and fashion of Bath, I collect,” he said. “Who, in God’s name, is the formidable dame in the wig and enough feathers to furnish an ostrich with plumage for two of her kind?”

“That, sir,” said Miss Wychwood, controlling a quivering lip, “is Mrs Wendlebury, one of the leaders of Bath Society. Only Mrs Mandeville’s approval is more necessary than hers for a girl making her first appearance in Bath. She has brought her widowed daughter, and her granddaughter, to my party tonight—which I count amongst my triumphs!”

He lowered his glass, and directed one of his penetrating looks at her. “I wish you will tell me why you are putting yourself to so much trouble for my tiresome niece?” he said unexpectedly.

“I don’t find her tiresome,” she replied. “Indeed, she has provided me with a great deal of amusement! When I met her, I was feeling sadly languid and bored, but that, thanks to her, is a thing of the past. Come, I must make you known to Mrs Stinchcombe! Her eldest daughter and Lucilla have struck up a great friendship, and I am persuaded she will wish to make your acquaintance.”

She led him inexorably away to where Mrs Stinchcombe was seated beside Mrs Mandeville on an elegant settee, pushed against the wall, and performed the introductions. To her surprise, Mrs Mandeville said: “No need to present him to me, child! His mama and I were bosom-bows, and I knew him when he was in his cradle! Well, Oliver, how do you do? Are you that pretty child’s guardian? When Annis told me that she was a Carleton, and the ward of her uncle, it did cross my mind that you might be the uncle, but it didn’t seem to me to be possible!”

“It doesn’t seem possible to me either, ma’am,” he said ruefully.

She cast him a shrewd glance. “Makes you feel older than you thought you were, does it? High time you did, if all I hear about you is true! But that’s no bread-and-butter of mine! I like your little niece: not fully fledged yet, but a bud of promise. Don’t you agree, ma’am?”

“Yes, I do indeed,” answered Mrs Stinchcombe. “She casts the rest into the shade.” She smiled up at Mr Carleton, and said: “You will certainly have enough on your hands when she comes out, driving away ineligible suitors, sir!”

“You shouldn’t have invited Kilbride tonight, Annis,” said Mrs Mandeville, in her forthright fashion. “An engaging scamp, I grant you, but dangerous.”

Avoiding Mr Carleton’s eyes, Annis responded with a lightness she was far from feeling: “I’m afraid my hand was forced, ma’am!”

“In what way, Miss Wychwood?” asked Mr Carleton, more than a hint of steel in his voice.

She was obliged to look at him, read condemnation in his face, and was goaded by vexation into making him a sharp answer. “Lucilla forced my hand, sir, by inviting him, and begging me to endorse the invitation! As he was standing beside her at the time, what could I do but say I should be happy to see him here tonight?” She saw his brows draw together, and added quickly: “Pray don’t blame her! She knew him to be a friend of mine, and I had told her she might invite whom she liked.”

“Well, it was a pity,” said Mrs Stinchcombe, “but I don’t think any harm will come of it. From what I can see, he will find it a hard matter to get up a flirtation with her! Young Elmore is playing watch-dog, and is sticking to her as close as a courtplaster!”

Miss Wychwood soon found that this was true: Ninian was obviously standing guard over Lucilla, which would have been amusing had his hostess been in the mood to be amused. Whether he was protecting her from Kilbride, or from Harry Beckenham, each of whom was making her the object of his gallantry, was a moot point: Miss Wychwood could only be thankful that his jealously possessive instinct had prompted him to behave very much like a dog guarding a bone; and to derive a certain amount of satisfaction from the realization that Lucilla was showing no preference for either of these dashing blades, but was merely enjoying, quite innocently, the novel experience of being a Success.

A cold supper had been laid out in the dining-room. It was informal, but most of the very young gentlemen present had engaged the very young ladies of their choices to go down to it under their escorts, and just as Miss Wychwood, an accomplished hostess, had matched the dowagers with appropriate partners, she found herself being confronted by Lord Beckenham, begging for the honour of leading her down to supper. She felt that nothing more was wanting to set the seal on the most unenjoyable evening of any she had ever spent but there seemed to be no way of escaping this added scourge, and she was about to smile politely, and to lay her hand on his arm, when Mr Carleton, standing, unperceived, immediately behind her, said: “Too late, Beckenham! Miss Wychwood is promised to me! Are you ready to go now, ma’am?”

She found herself in a quandary. If she repudiated this engagement a quarrel between the two men would be the inevitable outcome: Beckenham’s face had already assumed an alarmingly purple hue. Anything, she decided, would be preferable to a brawl in her house! She forced a smile to her lips, and said, mendaciously, but placably: “I’m afraid I did promise to let Mr Carleton take me down to supper, Beckenham! Will you oblige me very much by taking Maria down in my stead?”