“No, that wouldn’t answer.” He paused, and then said quite coolly: “I am thinking of getting married, Mama.”

She was taken so much by surprise that she could only stare at him. He had the reputation of being a dangerous flirt, but she had almost given up hope of his coming to the point of offering for any lady’s hand in matrimony. She had reason to think that he had had more than one mistress in keeping—very expensive Cythereans some of them had been if her sister were to be believed!—and it had begun to seem as if he preferred that way of life to a more ordered existence. Recovering from her stupefaction, she said: “My dear, this is very sudden!”

“Not so sudden as you think, Mama. I have been meaning for some time to speak to you about it.”

“Good gracious! And I never suspected it! Do, pray, sit down and tell me all about it!”

He looked at her keenly. “Would you be glad, Mama?”

“Of course I should!”

“Then I think that settles it.”

That made her laugh. “Of all the absurd things to say! Very well! having won my approval, tell me everything!”

He said, gazing frowningly into the fire: “I don’t know that there’s so much to tell you. I fancy you guessed I haven’t much cared for the notion of becoming riveted. I never met the female to whom I wished to be leg-shackled. Harry did, and if anything had been needed to confirm me in—”

“My dear, leave that!” she interposed. “Harry was happy in his marriage, remember! I believe, too, that although Ianthe’s feelings are not profound she was most sincerely attached to him.”

“So much attached to him that within a year of his death she was pining for the sight of a ballroom, and within four is planning to marry a worthless fribble! It will not do, Mama!”

“Very well, my dear, but we are talking of your marriage, not Harry’s, are we not?”

“True! Well, I realized—oh, above a year ago!—that it was my duty to marry. Not so much for the sake of an heir, because I have one already, but—”

“Sylvester, don’t put that thought into Edmund’s head!”

He laughed. “Much he would care! His ambition is to become a mail-coachman—or it was until Keighley let him have the yard of tin for a plaything! Now he cannot decide whether to be a coachman or a guard. Pretty flat he would think it to be told that he would be obliged instead to step into my shoes!”

She smiled. “Yes, now he would, but later—”

“Well, that’s one of my reasons, Mama. If I mean to marry I ought, I think, to do so before Edmund is old enough to think his nose has been put out of joint. So I began some months ago to look about me.”

“You are the oddest creature! Next you will tell me you made out a list of the qualities your wife must possess!”

“More or less,” he admitted. “You may laugh, Mama, but you’ll agree that certain qualities are indispensable! She must be well-born, for instance. I don’t mean necessarily a great match, but a girl of my own order.”

“Ah, yes, I agree with that! And next?”

“Well, a year ago I should have said she must be beautiful,” he replied meditatively. (She is not a beauty, thought the Duchess.) “But I’m inclined to think now that it is more important that she should be intelligent. I don’t think I could tolerate a hen-witted wife. Besides, I don’t mean to foist another fool on to you.”

“I am very much obliged to you!” she said, a good deal entertained. “Clever, but not beautiful: very well! Continue!”

“No, some degree of beauty I do demand. She must have countenance, at least, and the sort of elegance which you have, Mama.”

“Don’t try to turn my head, you flatterer! Have you discovered among the debutantes one who is endowed with all these qualities?”

“At first glance, I suppose a dozen, but in the end only five.”

“Five!”

“Well, only five with whom I could perhaps bear to spend a large part of my life. There is Lady Jane Saxby: she’s pretty, and good-natured. Then there’s Barningham’s daughter: she has a great deal of vivacity. Miss Bellerby is a handsome girl, with a little reserve, which I don’t dislike. Lady Mary Torrington—oh, a diamond of the first water! And lastly Miss Orton: not beautiful, but quite taking, and has agreeable manners.” He paused, his gaze still fixed on the smouldering logs. The Duchess waited expectantly. He looked up presently, and smiled at her. “Well, Mama?” he said affably. “Which of them shall it be?”

2

After an astonished moment the Duchess said: “Dearest, are you roasting me? You can’t in all seriousness be asking me to choose for you!”

“No, not choose precisely. I wish you will advise me, though. You’re not acquainted with any of them, but you know their families, and if you should have a decided preference—”

“But, Sylvester, have you no preference?”

“No, that’s the devil of it: I haven’t. Whenever I think one more eligible than any of the others as sure as check I find she has some fault or trick which I don’t like. Lady Jane’s laugh, for instance; or Miss Orton’s infernal harp! I’ve no turn for music, and to be obliged to endure a harp’s being eternally twanged in my own house—no, I think that’s coming it a trifle too strong, don’t you, Mama? Then Lady Mary—”

“Thank you, I have heard enough to be able to give you my advice!” interrupted his mother. “Don’t make an offer for any one of them! You are not in love!”

“In love! No, of course I am not. Is that so necessary?”

“Most necessary, my dear! Don’t, I beg you, offer marriage where you can’t offer love as well!”

He smiled at her. “You are too romantic, Mama.”

“Am I? But you seem to have no romance in you at all!”

“Well, I don’t look for it in marriage, at any rate.”

“Only in the muslin company?”

He laughed. “You shock me, Mama! That’s a different matter. I shouldn’t call it romance either—or only one’s first adventure, perhaps. And even when I was a greenhead, and fell in love with the most dazzling little bird of Paradise you ever saw, I don’t think I really fancied myself to have formed a lasting passion! I daresay I’m too volatile, in which case—”

“No such thing! You have not yet been fortunate enough to meet the girl for whom you will form a lasting passion.”

“Very true: I haven’t! And since I’ve been on the town for nearly ten years, and may be said to have had my pick of all the eligible debutantes that appear yearly on the Marriage Mart, we must conclude that if I’m not too volatile I must be too nice in my requirements. To be frank with you, Mama, you are the only lady of my acquaintance with whom I don’t soon become heartily bored!”

A tiny frown appeared between her winged brows as she listened to this speech. It was spoken in a bantering tone, but she found it disturbing. “Your pick of them, Sylvester?”

“Yes, I think so. I must have seen all the eligibles, I fancy.”

“And have made quite a number of them the objects of your gallantry—if the things I hear are to be believed!”

“My aunt Louisa,” said Sylvester unerringly. “What an incorrigible gossip your sister is, my dear! Well, if I have now and then shown a preference at least she can’t accuse me of having been so particular in my attentions as to have raised false hopes in any maiden’s bosom!”

The hint of laughter had quite vanished from her eyes. The image she cherished of this beloved son was all at once blurred; and a feeling of disquiet made it difficult for her to know what she should say to him. As she hesitated, an interruption occurred. The door was opened; a pretty, plaintive voice said: “May I come in, Mama-Duchess?” and there appeared on the threshold a vision of beauty dressed in a blue velvet pelisse, and a hat with a high poke-front which made a frame for a ravishing countenance. Ringlets of bright gold fell beside damask cheeks; large blue eyes were set beneath delicately arched brows; the little nose was perfectly straight; and the red mouth deliciously curved.

“Good morning, my love. Of course you may come in!” said the Duchess.

The vision had by this time perceived her brother-in-law, and although she did come in she said with a marked diminution of cordiality: “Oh! I didn’t know you had Sylvester with you, ma’am. I beg your pardon, but I only came to discover if Edmund was here.”

“I haven’t seen him this morning,” replied the Duchess. “Is he not with Mr. Leyburn?”

“No, and it is particularly vexatious because I wish to take him with me to visit the Arkholmes! You know I have been meaning for days to drive over to the Grange, ma’am, and now, on the first fine morning we have had for an age, no one can tell me where he is!”

“Perhaps he has slipped off to the stables, little rogue!”

“No, though, to be sure, that was what I expected too, for ever since Sylvester took to encouraging him to haunt the stables—”

“My dear, they all do so, and without the least encouragement!” interposed the Duchess. “Mine certainly did—they were the most deplorable urchins! Tell me, did you have that charming pelisse made from the velvets we chose from the patterns sent down last month? How well it has made up!”

The effect of this attempt to divert the beauty’s thoughts was unfortunate. “Yes, but only think, ma’am!” exclaimed Ianthe. “I had a suit made from it for Edmund to wear when he goes out with me—quite simple, but after the style of that red dress the boy has on in the picture by Reynolds. I forget where I saw it, but I thought at once how well Edmund would look in it if only it were not red but blue!”

“Wouldn’t he just!” muttered Sylvester.