“Certainly; to keep an eye on my ward.”

She put up her chin, a quizzical gleam in her eye. “I will give you a lead,” she promised.

He was amused. “Come, we begin to understand one another tolerably well,” he said. “How do you like your snuff?”

“To tell you the truth I don’t often take it,” confided Judith. “I only pretend.”

“You are in excellent company then, for you follow the Prince Regent. Let me see you take a pinch.”

She obeyed him, extracting from her reticule a gold box with enamelled plaques on the lid and sides.

He took it from her to inspect it more closely. “Very pretty. Where did you get it?”

“At Rundell and Bridge. I bought several there.”

He gave it back to her. “You have good taste.”

“Thank you,” said Judith. “To have earned the approval of so notable a connoisseur as yourself must afford me gratification.”

He smiled. “Do not be impertinent, Miss Taverner.”

She flicked open the box, and offered it to him. “You mistake me, Lord Worth: I was being civil—in your own manner.”

“You have not mastered the precise way of it,” he answered. “No, don’t offer your box to me; it is not a mixture that I like.”

“Indeed! How odd!” said Miss Taverner, raising a pinch to one nostril with a graceful turn of her wrist. “I do not like it either.”

“That is probably because you have drenched it with Vinagrillo,” said the Earl calmly. “I warned you to be sparing in the use of it.”

“I have not drenched it with Vinagrillo!” said Miss Taverner, indignantly shutting her box. “I used two drops, just to moisten the whole!”

A gentleman who was standing beside Colonel Wyndham in the middle of the saloon had been looking at Miss Taverner in a dreamy, unconcerned way, but when he saw her take out her snuff-box a look of interest came into his eyes, and he wandered away from the Colonel, and came towards the sofa. He said very earnestly to Worth: “Please present me! Such a pretty box! What I should call a nice visiting-box, but not suitable for morning wear. I was tempted when they showed it to me, but it did not happen to be just what I was looking for.”

Judith stared at him in a good deal of astonishment, but Lord Worth, betraying no hint of surprise, merely said: “Lord Petersham, Miss Taverner,” and got up.

Lord Petersham begged permission to sit beside Miss Taverner. “Tell me,” he said anxiously, “are you interested in tea, I wonder?”

She was not interested in tea, but she knew that his lordship had a room lined with canisters of every imaginable kind, from Gunpowder to Lapsang Souchong. She confessed her ignorance, and felt that she had disappointed him.

“It is a pity, a great pity,” he said. “You would find it almost as interesting as snuff. And you are interested in that, are you not? You have your own mixture; I saw the jar at Fribourg and Treyer’s.”

Miss Taverner produced her box. “I wish you will do me the honour of trying my sort,” she said.

“Mine will be the honour,” said his lordship, bowing. He dipped his finger and thumb in her box, and held a pinch to his nostrils, half-closing his eyes. “Spanish bran—a hint of Brazil—something else besides, possibly a dash of masulipatam.” He turned. “It reminds me of a mixture I think I have had in your house, Julian.”

“Impossible!” said Worth.

“Well, perhaps it is not precisely the same,” conceded Lord Petersham, turning back to Miss Taverner. “A very delicate mixture, ma’am. It is easy to detect the hand and unerring taste of an expert.”

Miss Taverner, with her guardian’s ironic eye upon her, had the grace to blush.

It was soon time to go upstairs and change her gown for dinner. She was placed at table between Lord Robert Manners and Mr. Pierrepoint, nowhere near the Earl, and as he joined the Duke of York after dinner, with his host and another inveterate whist-player, whom everyone called Chig, she did not speak to him again that evening.

She was not the only lady to join the Hunt next day, but no more than three others had enough energy or enthusiasm to appear, and by no means all the gentlemen. She was somewhat surprised to find Mr. Brummell attired for riding when she came down to an early breakfast, and opened her eyes at him.

He drew out a chair for her beside his own. “I know,” he said understandingly, “but it has a good appearance, and one need not go beyond the second field.”

“Not go beyond the second field!” she echoed. “Why, won’t you go farther, Mr. Brummell?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied very gravely. “There is sure to be a farmhouse where I can get some bread and cheese, and you must know there is nothing I like better than that.”

“Bread and cheese instead of hunting!” she said. “I cannot allow it to be a choice!”

“Yes, but you see, if I went very far I should get my tops and leathers splashed by all the greasy, galloping farmers,” he replied softly.

But even her partiality for him could not induce Miss Taverner to smile at such a speech as that. She looked reproachful, and would only say: “I am persuaded you do not mean it.”

She was to discover later that he had for once spoken in all sincerity. He abandoned the Hunt after the first few fields, and was no more seen. She commented on it with strong disapproval to her guardian, who had drawn up beside her at a check, but he merely looked faintly surprised, and said that the notion of Brummell muddied and dishevelled from a long day in the saddle was too absurd to be contemplated. Upon reflection she had to admit him to be right.

Mr. Brummell, encountered again at dinner, was unabashed. He had discovered a very excellent cheese in a farmhouse he had not previously known to exist, had regaled himself on it, and having satisfied himself that no speck of mud sullied his snowy tops, had ridden gently back to Belvoir to discuss with his hostess a plan for landscape gardening which had occurred to him in the night watches.

Lord Worth did not join the whist-party after dinner, but repaired to the drawing-room with several others, and was at once claimed by Lady Jersey. A rubber of Casino was being played at one end of the room, but not very seriously, and the cardplayers, when asked, had not the least objection to a little music. The Duchess begged that Miss Crewe’s harp might be fetched, and Miss Crewe, after a proper display of bashfulness, and some prompting from her mama, consented. The Honourable Mrs. Crewe, turbaned and majestic, bore down upon Lady Jersey, and informed her that she thought her ladyship would be pleased with Charlotte’s performance.

“Your ladyship’s mama, dear Lady Westmorland, recommended Charlotte’s present master to me,” she announced. “The result, I venture to think, has been most happy. She has learned to apply, and has in general acquired a proficiency upon the instrument—but I shall await your judgment, and yours too, Lord Worth. Your taste may certainly be relied on.”

The Earl had risen at her approach. He bowed, and said in his most expressionless voice: “You flatter me, ma’am.”

“Oh no, that I am sure I do not! Anything of that sort is repugnant to my nature; you will not find me administering to anyone’s vanity, I can tell you. I say exactly what I think. Charlotte is more conciliatory, I believe. I do not know where you may find a more good-natured, amiable girl: it is quite absurd!” The Earl bowed again, but said nothing. Mrs. Crewe tapped his sleeve with her fan. “You shall tell me what you think of her performance, but I do beg of you not to watch the child too closely, for I have had a great piece of work inducing her to play at all with you present. The nonsensical girl sets so much store by your opinion it is quite ridiculous! ‘Oh, Mama!’ she said to me, as we came downstairs, ‘if there should be music, don’t, I beg of you, press me to play! I am sure I cannot with Lord Worth’s critical eyes upon me!’”

“I will engage, ma’am, to turn my eyes elsewhere,” replied the Earl.

“Oh, nonsense, I have no notion of indulging girls in such folly,” said Mrs. Crewe. “‘Depend upon it, my love,’ I told her, ‘Lord Worth will be very well pleased with your performance.’”

The harp had been brought into the room by this time, and Mrs. Crewe sailed back to fuss over her daughter, to direct Mr. Pierrepoint to move a branch of candles nearer, and Lord Alvanley to bring up a more suitable chair.

Worth resumed his seat beside Lady Jersey, and gave her one expressive glance. Her eyes were dancing. “Oh, my dear Julian, do you see? You must sit and gaze at Charlotte throughout! Now, that isn’t ill-natured of me, is it? Such a detestable, matchmaking woman! I beg you won’t offer for Charlotte. I shall never ask you to Osterley again if you do, and you know that would be too bad when you are one of my oldest friends.”

“I can safely promise you I won’t,” replied the Earl.

His eyes had wandered by chance to where Miss Taverner was seated, at no great distance, and rested there for a moment. Miss Taverner was not looking at him; she was conversing in a quiet voice with a lively brunette.

Lady Jersey followed the direction of the Earl’s glance, and shot him one quick, shrewd look. “My dear Worth, I have always agreed with you,” she said saucily. “She is lovely—quite beautiful!”

The Earl turned his eyes upon her. “Don’t talk, Sally: you interrupt Miss Crewe.”

And indeed by this time Miss Crewe had run one hand across the strings of the harp, and was about to begin.

Mrs. Crewe, anxiously watching his lordship, had the doubtful felicity of seeing that he kept his word to her. Beyond bestowing one cursory glance upon the fair performer, he did not look at her again, but inspected instead his companion’s famous pink pearls. He did indeed join in the applause that greeted the song, but with all his habitual languor. Miss Crewe was begged to sing again, though not by him, and after a little show of reluctance, complied. My Lord Worth sank his chin in his cravat, and gazed abstractedly before him.