The second piece being at an end, and Miss Crewe properly complimented and thanked, Lady Jersey leaned forward impulsively and addressed Miss Taverner. “Miss Taverner, surely I am not mistaken in thinking that you play, and sing too?”

Judith looked up. “Very indifferently, ma’am. I have no skill on the harp.”

“But the pianoforte! I am persuaded you could give us all great pleasure if you would!”

The Duchess at once added her entreaties to Lady Jersey’s, and Lord Alvanley, deserting Miss Crewe, went across to her, and said in his cheerful way: “Now, do pray sing for us, Miss Taverner! We can never be brought to believe that you don’t sing, you know! Do you not give us all the lead in everything?”

Judith coloured, and shook her head. “No, indeed; you put me quite out of countenance. My performance on the pianoforte is nothing at all out of the common, I assure you.”

The Duchess said kindly: “Do not be doing anything you would rather not, Miss Taverner. but I believe I can engage for it we shall all listen to you with considerable pleasure.”

“Worth!” said Alvanley. “Use your influence, my dear fellow! You can command where we may only supplicate!”

“Well, here is a piece of work!” exclaimed Mrs. Crewe, by no means pleased at the turn events had taken. “It is an odd thing to hear you begging the indulgence of music, Lord Alvanley. I am sure you had rather be at the card-table.”

“Oh, come, ma’am,” said Alvanley easily, “you are giving me a sad character, you know.”

“Well, I have never known you to stay away from the whist-table before,” she persisted.

“You will make me feel you are anxious to be rid of me,” he said. “If you can tell me if there is any chance of the Ten Tribes of Israel being discovered, I promise you I will go and play whist when I have heard Miss Taverner sing.”

“What in the world can you mean? You are the oddest creature, I protest!”

“Why, ma’am, only that I have exhausted the other two tribes, and called out the conscription of next year. Worth! you say nothing! Compel Miss Taverner!”

Judith, who had recovered her countenance, got up. “Indeed, it is not necessary! You make me seem very ungracious, sir, and I am afraid you will be disappointed in my performance after Miss Crewe’s excellence.”

Lord Worth rose, and walking over to the pianoforte opened it for her. As Alvanley led her up to it, he said in a low voice: “Have you music? May I fetch it for you?”

She shook her head. “I brought none. I must play from memory, and beg you all to pardon my deficiencies.”

“That is a very prettily-behaved, unaffected girl,” whispered the Duchess of Dorset to her hostess. “Did you say eighty or ninety thousand pounds, my dear?”

Miss Taverner settled herself on the music-stool, and spread her fingers over the keys. The Earl placed himself in a chair near the pianoforte, and fixed his eyes on her face.

She sang a simple ballad; her voice, though not powerful, was sweet, and well-trained. She accompanied herself creditably, and looked so beautiful that it was not to be wondered at that her performance should be greeted with extravagant acclaim. She was begged to sing again, and accused of hiding her light under a bushel. She blushed, shook her head, sang one more ballad, and resolutely got up from the pianoforte.

“If she had had the benefit of good masters she would sing quite tolerably,” said Mrs. Crewe in an undervoice to Lady Jersey. “It is a pity she puts on such an air of consequence. But so it is always with these lanky, overgrown females!”

Miss Taverner had moved away from the instrument towards the window embrasure. The Earl followed her, and sat down beside her there. “There is no end to your accomplishments,” he remarked.

“Please don’t be absurd!” said Miss Taverner. “You at least do not want for sense, and to talk as though my singing were in any way superior is a great piece of folly!”

“It gave me pleasure,” he answered mildly. “Would you prefer me to tell you that you have very little voice, and no particular skill?”

She smiled. “It would be the truth, and more what I am growing used to hear from you. But I did not mean to be rude.”

“You are absolved,” he said gravely. “Tell me, do you like to be here? Are you enjoying your visit?”

“Yes, very much. Everyone has been so kind! I might have been acquainted with them all my life. I wish Perry could have been here. He is staying with the Fairfords, you know.” She gave a little laugh. “His regard for Miss Fairford shows no sign of abating. I did not more than half like it when he offered for her. but I begin to think that she may do very well for him. She is the oddest little creature! so young and shy, and yet with a great deal of common sense. She makes Perry mind her already, which I could never succeed in doing.”

“How long does Peregrine mean to stay in Hertfordshire?” inquired the Earl.

“I am not perfectly sure. Certainly for a week, and I should suppose for longer.”

He nodded. “Well, unless he contrives to break his neck on the hunting-field, he should not come to much harm there.”

“He won’t do that; he rides very well, better than he drives.” She looked at him undecidedly, and opened and shut her fan once or twice. “I spoke to you once about Perry, Lord Worth.”

“You did.”

“I am no less anxious now. He needs to be steadied. If you cannot do that will you not give another the right?”

“Whom, for instance?” asked his lordship.

“Miss Fairford,” she replied seriously.

“I was under the impression that I had given it to her.”

“If you would give your consent to an earlier marriage!” She coaxed. “I do indeed believe Perry’s affection to be deep-rooted. He will not change.”

He shook his head. “No, Miss Taverner. That I will not do. I cannot imagine what possessed me to countenance the betrothal at all.”

She was a little startled, and turned in her chair to look at him more fully. “Why should you not? What is this change of face?”

He returned her gaze in a considering way, but after a slight pause, he merely said: “He is too young.”

She felt that he had not told her the real reason; she was annoyed, but tried not to show it. “Perhaps he is too young; I do not deny that I thought so at first. But now I feel that marriage would be the very thing for him. Miss Fairford does not like London, and I believe she would wish to reside the most of the year in Yorkshire. And it would be best for Perry, after all. He gets into dangerous scrapes in town. Only the other day—” She stopped, looked a little confused, and said after a moment: “Well, that is nothing. It is over now, and I should not have spoken. But I have been in some alarm about him.”

“You refer, I collect, to the duel which did not take place,” said the Earl.

She raised her eyes quickly. “You knew of that?”

“My dear Miss Taverner, when challenges are offered at the Cock-Pit it is not wonderful that there should be no secrecy attached to the subsequent meeting.”

“The Cock-Pit! That I had not heard! If you knew how much I detest cocking, and all that it leads to! I have had to see as many as a hundred cocks walking on my father’s estate, and to know that both he and Perry—but this is beside the point. I begin to understand now how it all came about. If it had not been for the intervention of one who has proved himself very much our friend, Perry might not be alive to-day.” The Earl turned a singularly penetrating gaze upon her. “Pray go on, Miss Taverner. Who was this well-disposed person?”

“My cousin, Mr. Bernard Taverner,” she replied. He lifted his quizzing-glass. “Your cousin. Are you sure that it was he who intervened?”

“Why, yes,” she said, rather surprised. “He was to some extent in Perry’s confidence. Perry taxed him with it afterwards, and he could not deny it. It is only one more instance of his consideration, his regard for us.”

The Earl kept, his glass up. “This gentleman is a good deal in your confidence, I gather.”

“I know of no reason why he should not be,” said Judith, a little stiffly. “I believe him to be very worthy of our confidence. He is not only our cousin, but most truly our friend.”

He lowered his glass. “He is fortunate to have so easily secured your good opinion,” he said. “Does he advise an early marriage for Peregrine, I wonder?”

“He has not told me so,” said Judith.

“No doubt he will,” said his lordship. “You may tell him, when he does, that I have not the least intention of permitting Peregrine to marry yet awhile.”

He got up, but she detained him. “I don’t know why you should take this tone, Lord Worth, nor why, having promised your consent to Perry’s marriage next year, you should suddenly change your mind.”

“Oh,” said the Earl with a sardonic smile, “you may take it that I have too nice a sense of my duty to allow my ward to entangle himself in matrimony so young.”

“That is not the true answer,” she said. “For some reason it does not suit you to see Perry married. I should wish to know what that reason is.”

“At the moment,” said the Earl, “I fear I cannot call it to mind.”

He left her considerably put out. She had been in a fair way to acknowledge herself to have been mistaken in him, and now, just as she had warmed towards him, he made her angry again. She looked after him resentfully, until her consciousness was recalled by Mr. Pierrepoint, who came up to ask her if she would join a lottery-table in the next room.

She went at once, and did not set eyes on the Earl again until she went with the rest of the ladies to bed. He was in the hall with several of the other men of the party then, and he gave her her candle. As she took it from him, with downcast eyes and a very sober countenance, he clasped her wrist in a light hold, and said quietly: “Do you dislike me as much as ever? It is a pity. Try not to let your prejudice lead you into mistrusting me. You have no need.” He paused. “Look at me!”