“Spanked him!” said Annis.

He grinned, and admitted that he had been strongly tempted to do so, but Amabel uttered a shocked protest, and Miss Farlow said that she knew he was only funning, and that it would have been the height of brutality to have spanked dear little Tom when he was demented with the agony he was suffering.

Annis then withdrew, saying that she must put off her riding habit, and recommending Amabel to lie down on her bed for an hour or two, to recover from so many sleepless nights. As she left the room, she heard Miss Farlow eagerly endorsing this piece of advice, assuring dear Lady Wychwood that she had no need to be anxious about poor little Tom, and telling her that a hot brick had already been put into her bed. “For I gave orders for that to be done before we drove to Westcott’s, knowing that you would be quite exhausted after all the trials you have been forced to undergo!”

Sir Geoffrey, following his sister out of the room, caught up with her at the head of the stairs. “Stay a moment, Annis!” he said. “Something I wish to consult with you about! These new vapour-baths which I hear so much about: do you agree with me that they would be of benefit to Amabel? The state of her health has been causing me grave concern—very grave concern! She insists that she is in perfectly good point, but you must have noticed how pulled she looks! It’s my belief she never has been in high health since her confinement, and this unfortunate business of Tom’s abscess has put her quite out of curl. You would be doing me a great favour if you would prevail upon her to take a course of the baths, which, I’m told, are excellent in such cases.”

She regarded him steadily, and with a disquieting smile in her eyes, which had a discomposing effect on him, but all she said was: “I am sorry you should feel so anxious about her. She is certainly tired, and overwrought, but that was to be expected, wasn’t it, after so many sleepless nights? She seemed, when I was visiting you, to be in a capital way!”

He shook his head. “Ah, she is never one to complain of feeling out of sorts, and, I daresay, would be laid by the wall before she would admit to being fagged to death when you were visiting us! But so it was—not that she will own it!”

“I’ve no doubt she won’t,” said Miss Wychwood. “I have heard, of course, of the new baths in Abbey Street, but I know nothing about them, except that they are under the management of a Dr Wilkinson. And I cannot suppose, dear brother, that if you have failed to persuade Amabel to try a course of them she would yield to any persuasion of mine.”

“Oh, I think she might!” he said. “She sets great store by your opinion, I promise you! You have great influence over her, you know.”

“Have I? Well, I should think it most impertinent to exert it in a matter of which she can be the only judge. But you may be easy! Amabel may remain with me for as long as she chooses to do so.”

“I knew I might depend on you!” he said heartily. “You are wishful to change your dress, so I won’t detain you another minute! I must make haste to be off myself, so I’ll take my leave of you now. I daresay I shall be riding over to see how Amabel goes on in a day or two, but I know I can rely on you to take good care of her!”

“But surely you have brought her here so that she may take good care of me?”

He thought it prudent to ignore this, but halfway down the stairs he bethought him of something he had forgotten to tell her. He paused, and looked back at her, saying: “Oh, by the bye, Annis! You asked me to send the nursery-maid, didn’t you? There was no time for me to send a message to Amabel, so I have arranged to hire a suitable girl to wait on the nursery here.”

“You shouldn’t have put yourself to the trouble of doing that,” she answered, rather touched.

“Not trouble at all!” he said gallantly. “I wouldn’t for the world upset your servants! Maria has promised to attend to the matter this very day.”

He waved an airy hand, and went off down the stairs, feeling that he had done all that could have been expected of him.

By the time Miss Wychwood descended to the drawing-room he had left the house, and Amabel, as Miss Farlow informed her in an audible aside, was laid down on her bed, with the blinds drawn, and a hot brick at her feet. She would have described all the arrangements she had made for Amabel’s comfort, had Miss Wychwood not checked her, and moved past her to greet Lord Beckenham, who had called to return thanks for the previous evening’s party, and was making ponderous conversation to Lucilla. He kissed her hand, and told her that his intention had been to have left his card, but that hearing from Limbury that she was at home he had ventured to come in, just to see how she did.

“Miss Carleton has been telling me that you went out riding this morning. You are inexhaustible, dear Miss Annis! And now I hear that Lady Wychwood has come to stay with you, which must have meant that you were obliged to go to a great deal of trouble! I wish—indeed, we must all of us wish! that you would take more care of yourself!”

“My dear Beckenham, you speak as though I were one of these invalidish females for ever hovering on the brink of a decline! You should know better! I don’t think I’ve suffered a day’s illness since I came to Bath! As for being knocked-up by a small rout—what a poor thing you must think me!” She turned to Lucilla, and said: “My dear, did you tell me that you were going to go for a walk in the Sydney Garden with Corisande and Edith and Miss Frampton this afternoon? I had meant to have accompanied you to Laura Place, and to have had a chat with Mrs Stinchcombe, but I’m afraid I must cry off, now that Lady Wychwood has come to visit me. Oh, don’t look so downcast! Brigham can go with you to Laura Place, and I will send the carriage to bring you back again in time for dinner. You will make my excuses to Mrs Stinchcombe, and explain the circumstances, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, indeed I will, ma’am!” said Lucilla, her clouded brow clearing as if by magic. “I will run up to put on my bonnet immediately! Unless—unless there is anything you would wish me to do for you here?”

“Not a thing!” said Miss Wychwood, smiling affectionately at her. “Say goodbye to Lord Beckenham, and be off with you, or you will keep them waiting!” When the door was shut behind Lucilla, she addressed herself to Miss Farlow, speaking with cool friendliness. “You too should be off, Maria, if you have pledged yourself to hire a suitable maid to wait on the nursery, which I understand is the case.”

“Oh, yes! I was persuaded it was what you would wish me to do! If I had known one would be needed I would have popped into the Registry Office this morning, on my way home from Milsom Street, only if I had done so I should have been too late to welcome dear Lady Wychwood, for, as it was, I had so much shopping to do that I almost was too late. Not that I mean to complain! That would be a very odd thing for me to do! But so it was, and I saw a chaise drawn up outside the house just as I was passing that house with the green shutters, so I ran the rest of the way, and reached our house at the very moment James was helping Nurse to get down from the chaise. So I gave all my parcels to Limbury, and told him to take them down to the kitchen, and was able—though sadly out of breath!—to welcome dear Lady Wychwood, and explain to her how it came about that you were obliged to depute that agreeable task to me. And then, you know—”

“Yes, Maria, I do know, so you need not tell me any more! These details are of no possible interest to Lord Beckenham.”

“Oh, no! Gentlemen never care for domestic matters, do they? I well remember my dear father saying that I was a regular bagpipe when I recounted some little happening to him which I quite thought would entertain him! Well, I mustn’t run on, must I? You and his lordship will be wanting to talk about the party, and although I should like very much to stay I see that it wants only two minutes to the hour, and I must tear myself away!”

Lord Beckenham showed no disposition to follow her example; he remained for more than an hour, and might have stayed for another hour had not Amabel come into the room. This gave Miss Wychwood an opportunity to get rid of him, which she did quite simply by telling him that Amabel ought to be in her bed, for she was quite worn-out, and in no fit state to have come down to the drawing-room. He said at once that he would go away, and pausing only to express his concern to Lady Wychwood, and his hope that Bath air, and the tender care which he knew well she would receive in her sister-in-law’s house, would soon restore her to the enjoyment of her usual health, he did go away.

Lady Wychwood said, when she was alone with Annis: “How devoted he is to you, dearest! You shouldn’t have sent him away on my account!”

“Yes, I know you have a tendre for him,” said Annis, gravely shaking her head. “I am very sorry to be so disobliging, but I feel it my duty to Geoffrey to keep such a dashing blade away from you.”

“For shame, Annis! It’s very naughty of you to poke fun at the poor man! Keep him away from me indeed! How ridiculous you are!”

“No more ridiculous than you, my dear.”

Lady Wychwood’s eyes flew to her face. “Why—why what can you mean?” she faltered.

“Haven’t you come here to keep Oliver Carleton away from me?” Annis asked her, a little satirical smile lilting on her lips.

Colour flooded Lady Wychwood’s cheeks. “Oh, Annis!”

Annis laughed. “Don’t sound so tragical, you goose! I’m well aware that this absurd notion is Geoffrey’s, and not yours.”