“I see,” she replied sympathetically.

“And my sister Cordelia as well,” he added, on a gloomy note. “If she had to bring one of my sisters with her she might at least have brought Lavinia, for she has some sense, and she ain’t a watering-pot, and she don’t wind me up anything like as often as Cordelia does! I can tell you, ma’am, it made me as mad as fire when the silly wet-goose flung her arms round my neck before I could stop her, and wept all over me!”

“I—I expect it did!” said Miss Wychwood, a trifle unsteadily.

“Well, of course it did, and it would have made any man feel just as I did! I told Mama—perfectly politely! that it was enough to make me jump on the Bristol coach, and ship aboard the first packet bound for America, or anywhere else that the Bristol boats sail to, because I had rather live in the Antipodes than have Cordelia hanging round my neck, and dashed well ruining my necktie, besides calling me her beloved brother, which was the biggest hum I ever heard, for she don’t like me any better than I like her! So then Cordelia asked me, as though she had been acting in some tragedy or another, if I wished to drive my sainted parents into their graves! Well, that did make me lose my temper, and I told her to her head that I had come to talk to Mama, and not to listen to fustian rubbish from her!”

Miss Wychwood, hugely enjoying this recital, perceived that the eldest Miss Elmore was a daughter after Lady Iverley’s heart. She also perceived that his sojourn in Bath had done Ninian (to her way of thinking) a great deal of good; and she hoped that Lady Iverley had realized that he was no longer the adored and dutiful son who did as he was bid, but a young gentleman who had crossed the threshold of adolescence, and had become a man.

Apparently she had. She had sent Cordelia out of the room. According to Ninian, she had done this because she had recognized the justice of his complaint; Miss Wychwood thought that she had done it because she had been frightened. But this she did not say. She merely said: “Oh, dear! What a sad ending to the day!”

“I should rather think it was!” said Ninian fervently. “Except that it wasn’t the end of the day, but the beginning of it! Of this day, I mean! Well, I didn’t get back to the Pelican till past midnight, so I didn’t see the note my mother wrote me until then, when it was far too late to visit her, even if I hadn’t been—” He stopped, in a good deal of embarrassment.

“Foxed?” suggested Miss Wychwood helpfully.

He grinned at her. “No, no, not foxed,ma’am! Just a little bit on the go! If you know what I mean!”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean!” she assured him, the smile dancing in her eyes. “You had been dipping rather deep, but you were not too bosky to perceive the unwisdom of presenting yourself to your mama until you had slept off your potations! Have I that right?”

He burst out laughing. “Yes, by Jupiter you have! You’re a great gun, ma’am! Well, I went up to bed, but I told the boots to wake me not a moment later than eight this morning, which he did, and though I must say I felt pretty devilish at first, a cup of strong coffee more or less set me to rights, and I went off to the Christopher.” He paused; the laughter vanished from his voice, a frown descended on to his brow, and his mouth hardened. It was a full minute before he spoke again, and when he did speak it was with a little difficulty. He said: “Do you think it chicken-hearted of me to have knuckled down, Miss Wychwood?”

“By no means! You owe a duty to your father, remember!”

“Yes, I know. But—but I have begun to wonder if he is so very ill as Mama believes him to be. Or even if she does believe it, or if she says it to compel me to go home, and stay at home, because she is—well, much more deeply attached to me than to my sisters!”

“I daresay she might exaggerate a little, but from what you have told me I collect that Lord Iverley’s constitution was seriously impaired by his service in the Peninsula.”

“Yes, it was: there can be no doubt about that!” said Ninian, brightening. He thought it over for a moment, and then said: “And he did have a bad heart-attack some years ago. But—but Mama seems to live in dread of his having another, which might prove fatal, if he is put into a passion, or if one doesn’t do exactly as he bids one!”

“That is very natural, Ninian.”

“Yes, but it isn’t true! He was in the devil of a passion when Lucy ran away, and I helped her to do it; and when I lost my temper, and we quarrelled, and I said I should go straight back to Bath, he flew into such a rage that he shook with anger, and could hardly speak. But he didn’t suffer a heart-attack! What’s more, he went on being in a rage, for it was several days later that he wrote me that thundering scold, so that it is absurd to expect me to believe that he was exhausted. But when I tried to point this out to Mama, all she would say was that she couldn’t blame me for turning against my parents because she knew well that I had fallen under an evil influence! I couldn’t think what had put such a crack-brained notion into her head! It took me an age to get it out of her, but she did tell me in the end, and what do you think it was? Your influence, ma’am! Lord, I nearly laughed myself into stitches! Well, did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous?”

“Never!” said Miss Wychwood. “I trust you were able to convince her that she was mistaken?”

“Yes, but it was deuced hard work! Someone seems to have told her that you were the most beautiful woman in Bath—described you pretty thoroughly to her, too, for she talked of your eyes, and your hair, and your figure as though she had actually seen you! So I said Yes, you were very beautiful, and very clever too, and I’m dashed if she didn’t accuse me of having fallen a victim to your beauty!”

“I can almost hear her saying it!” murmured Miss Wychwood appreciatively.

“I daresay it would have made you laugh, but it didn’t make me laugh, though I suppose it was funny. The thing was that it made me very angry, and I told Mama that it was a great piece of impertinence to talk in that outrageous style about a lady whom everyone holds in respect, and who has been as kind to me as though I had been her nephew. Which you have been, ma’am, and I couldn’t leave Bath without telling you how very grateful I am to you for all the things you’ve done to make my stay in Bath so agreeable! Letting me run tame in your house, inviting me to go with you and Lucy to the theatre, making me known to your friends—oh, hosts of things!”

“My dear boy, I wish you won’t talk nonsense!” she protested. “It is I who am grateful to you! Indeed, I have made shameless use of you, and am wondering what I should have done without you, to take Lucilla about, and to stand guard over her! And another thing I wish you won’t do is to talk as though we were never to meet again! I hope you will often visit Bath, and promise you will always be a welcome guest in Camden Place.”

“Th—thank you, ma’am!” he stammered, blushing. “I mean to be a frequent visitor, I can tell you! I have made it plain to Mama that if I go home with her today it must be on the strict understanding that I am at liberty to come and go as I choose, and without having to coax Papa into giving his consent every time I wish to do something he doesn’t approve of!”

“Ah, that was very wise of you!” she said. “I daresay he may not like it at first, but depend upon it he will very soon grow accustomed to having a sensible man for his son and not a mere boy!”

“Do you think he will, ma’am?” he asked, rather doubtfully.

“I am very sure of it,” she smiled, getting up. “You will take some nuncheon with us before you go, will you not?”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am, but no! I mustn’t stay. My mother is anxious to reach Chartley today, because she fears my father will be fretting over the chance that she may have met with an accident. Which is very possible, for she never goes away without him. It would be much wiser, of course, if we postponed our departure until tomorrow morning, but when I suggested this to her, I saw at once that it would not do. I don’t mean that she tried to—to persuade me—in fact, she said I must be the only judge of what was best—but I could see that she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight for worrying about Papa, so even if we don’t reach Chartley before midnight it will be better for her to go home today than to be worrying herself into a fever. And it don’t really signify if we do have to drive after dark, because it won’t be dark, the moon being at the full, and no fear that I can see of the sky’s becoming overcast.” He added imploringly, as though he had detected in Miss Wychwood’s expression what were her feelings on the subject: “You see, ma’am, Mama is not robust, and her disposition is nervous, and—and I know what trials she has to undergo—and—and—”

“You love her very much,” supplied Miss Wychwood, patting his flushed cheek, and smiling at him warmly. “She is a fortunate woman! Now you will wish to say goodbye to Lucilla, so we will go up to the drawing-room. I think I heard her come in, with my sister, a minute or two ago.”

“Yes—well, I must do so, though ten to one she will abuse me for not having any resolution!” he said resentfully.

However, Lucilla behaved with perfect propriety. She exclaimed, when he told her that he was obliged to return to Chartley: “Oh, no, Ninian! Must you do so? Pray don’t go away!” but when he explained the circumstances she made no further demur, but looked thoughtful, and said that she supposed he would be obliged to go. It was not until he had left the house that, emerging from a brown study, she said earnestly to Miss Wychwood: “It makes me almost glad I am an orphan, ma’am!”