While their conduct and companions had been very different, Sir James Martin and Sir Frederick Vernon had shared many qualities in common, and chief among them was optimism. No problem was insoluble, no obstacle insurmountable, nor was any misery permanent.

Sir James, therefore, woke on the following morning certain that time would resolve all in his favor. It had been unfeeling of him to address his cousin in a place that must recall both her happiest and unhappiest days, and there were other considerations that made her hesitation perfectly natural. In making so early a second marriage, she would certainly incur the censure of the world (which he had once advised her to heed), and she could not think of marrying before a match for Frederica might be secured. His efforts would better be directed toward bringing Frederica and Reginald deCourcy together—once their attachment was a settled thing, Susan would have only her own future to think about.

He wrote a handsome note to Mrs. Vernon thanking her for her hospitality and expressing his desire to reciprocate it should she ever come to London, and another more affectionate one to his cousins, apologizing once more for his mischief and insisting that they must always regard him as one who had only their best interests at heart.

The gentlemen had an early breakfast, their baggage was secured, and the carriage set off at nine o’clock. The weather was favorable to Sir James—that is, there was just enough drizzle and fog to slow their journey, and Sir James had ample time to promote Miss Vernon’s beauty, refinement, and accomplishment.

“She is superior in every way, and I may speak as one who has known her since her birth, though not”—Sir James smiled—“as one who was ever a suitor. Lady Vernon and I were brought up almost as brother and sister, and our families were always on very intimate footing, which, I suppose, began the gossip that I had not married because I was waiting for my young cousin to come of age. I was very wrong to let it go on as long as it did, as it only added to speculation. A gentleman of fortune must be married—his friends and neighbors will have no peace until he is.”

“But if you never meant to make a proposal for Miss Vernon, why, when I addressed Lady Vernon on the subject, did she not contradict me?”

“I suspect that my cousin was so very shocked that you believed the gossip that she did not know what to say. And supposing that the rumor had come to you by way of Mrs. Vernon, she did not wish to impugn your good sister’s information. I am quite certain that when addressed on the subject, Lady Vernon thought only to defend Miss Vernon as deserving of the addresses of a gentleman in my situation and not to deliberately suggest that I was her object.”

Reginald could not clearly recall what had been said and, after a moment, decided that this had indeed been the case.

“But so it is with parents,” Sir James continued. “By them we are taught, from the moment we think of marrying at all, that we cannot marry without some attention to money. And yet if they might only consider the unequal matches that are the result of it—the years of unhappiness that follow a union fashioned out of a parent’s ambition—perhaps they might consider the very great advantage of a son-or daughter-in-law whose character and abilities may be superior to wealth.”

“You speak with a great feeling for the subject.”

“There was someone I liked,” Sir James replied gravely, “who suited me in every regard. But her fortune was not what my father—an excellent parent in every other respect, and a gentleman always worthy of the highest regard—wished for me, and I allowed his desires, if not to rule me, at least to cause me to hesitate just long enough for another to win her heart and her hand. I have not found anybody I liked quite as well ever since.”

Reginald was struck by the unexpected sincerity of Sir James’s manner.

“It is a lesson,” Sir James continued, “not to let ourselves be ruled by others in the matter of our happiness, nor to place fortune above true felicity.”

“But that is spoken like a rich man, who may do as he likes.” Reginald smiled.

“All the more reason that I ought to have done as I liked when the opportunity was before me.”

“You cannot reproach yourself for honoring your father’s wishes.”

“I can reproach myself for giving so little credit to his affection by supposing that he would feel a lasting resentment if I married against his ambition. I allowed myself to think that he would prefer me to be rich rather than happy. If I had spoken at once, if I had made my feelings plain, he might have attempted to argue me out of them—he might have attributed them to youth, as I was very young at the time—but I believe that he would have yielded in the end.”

“There was no objection to the lady’s character?”

“None at all. She was unexceptionable in every regard.”

After a few moments, Sir James continued with a smile, “The result is that I have made myself the fodder of the gossipmongers and the matchmakers. The rumors of an engagement to my young cousin came out of it, and will not end until she comes to London and engages the attention of some young man or other. Not all young men can be the fool that I was, nor can every father be so ambitious. A young lady of Frederica’s beauty and accomplishment, of such excellent disposition and character, will not be disregarded for a want of fortune.”

Reginald could say no more than “Indeed, no.”


As Reginald was only to stay in London until the following morning, Sir James invited him to pass the night at his house in town, and Reginald accepted with pleasure. The journey gave Reginald an opportunity to understand that Sir James was very different from what gossip had pronounced him to be; he had been said to be thoughtless and giddy, and yet every expression had shown him to be civil, intelligent, and amiable.

They decided to stop at Portland Place in order to turn over Lady Vernon’s portrait to her housekeeper. The door was answered by this woman, who greeted Sir James with genuine warmth and commissioned the footman to take charge of the parcel.

Then, to their very great surprise, the housekeeper declared, “Lady Martin has been awaiting you in the front parlor. She would have you join her.”

“Mother!” Sir James cried, throwing open the door to the parlor. Lady Martin was sitting beside the fire, needlework on her lap and two plump cats at her feet.

“Well, you have got here! You may kiss me—I cannot get up. Do not tease Kit! You are Mr. deCourcy,” she addressed Reginald. “There, the bother of deciding which of us must request an introduction is done with. I have some slight acquaintance with your father and mother, sir, and I hope that they were in health when you saw them last.”

Reginald was surprised, but not displeased, with the lady’s address, which despite her easy manner retained an air of elegance.

“My father has not been as strong as I would like, but Miss Vernon was kind enough to send a few receipts, which I hope will give him some improvement.”

“Excellent! She is an excellent girl—but a superior mother will invariably produce a superior daughter. If I had a daughter, she should have been a very superior girl, and nothing at all like this reprobate whose company you have been compelled to suffer all the way from Sussex. Sit down—why do you stand there? I will give you some tea. Do you stop at my son’s house?”

“Yes, ma’am, Sir James has been kind enough to ask me to stay for the night. Tomorrow I proceed to Parklands.”

“Well, one night in his company can do you no harm.”

“I am very surprised to see you here, Mother,” said Sir James. “I cannot account for it.”

“Why may I not come to town if I like?”

“But you do not like it—you haven’t come to town for ten years.”

“But I meant to come,” she maintained, and addressed Reginald once more. “But for her father’s accident, Frederica would have been presented. Sir Frederick would have been so delighted, the proudest father who ever lived. A very great loss to her. There are some who will say that a father is never of great consequence to a daughter, that so long as she has been left comfortably off, it is of no matter whether he is present or absent, as they have no interests in common, but that was not true of Sir Frederick and my niece. He would not have wished her away for a son.”

“But you do not say why you come to London, ma’am.”

“To stand up with Frederica if she likes to go out and keep the nuisances from imposing upon Susan when she likes to stay at home. I do not mean to suggest that you are among the nuisances, sir.” She addressed Reginald. “You may call as often as you like when you are in town.”

Reginald thanked her.

“Such an accomplished girl. She plays and sings so charmingly, and as for her drawing! Look at those watercolors upon the wall—that is a crocus border she put in at Vernon Castle, and there, too, is the laurel hedge round the lodge. Do you not think they are very nicely done?”

Reginald walked over to examine the sketches. “Yes, they are very well done.”

“It is a great pity she was obliged to leave Vernon Castle. Ah, here is our tea! You must be very tired after your journey.”

When they had drunk their tea and Lady Martin had asked their opinion of whether the portrait ought to be hung in the sitting room or the library, and then deciding the matter for herself, she invited Reginald to dine at Portland Place upon his return to London.

The gentlemen left shortly afterward, and although Sir James felt obliged to beg for some small allowance of his mother’s outspoken manner, Reginald assured him that he had found Lady Martin to be delightful.