She said despairingly: “You don’t understand!”

“Won’t understand!” muttered Tom savagely.

“Don’t, Tom! Perhaps, if I write to her, Grandmama might—Only they will be so dreadfully angry with me!” A tear trickled down her cheek; she wiped it away, saying as valiantly as she could: “Well, at least I have had one very happy week. When must I go, sir?”

The Squire said gruffly: “Best to do so as soon as possible, my dear. I shall hire a chaise to convey you, but Tom’s situation makes it a trifle awkward. Seems to me I ought first to consult with this doctor of his.”

She agreed to this; and then, as another tear spilled over, ran out of the room. The Squire cleared his throat, and said: “She will feel better when she’s had her cry out, you know.”

It was Phoebe’s intention to do just this, in the privacy of her bedchamber; but she found Alice there, sweeping the floor, and retreated to the stairs, just as the door leading to the back of the inn opened, and Sylvester came into the narrow passage. She stopped, halfway down the stairs, and he looked up. He saw the tear-stains on her cheeks, and said: “What’s the matter?”

“Tom’s papa,” she managed to reply. “Mr. Orde ...”

He was frowning now, the slant of his brows accentuated. “Here?”

“In Tom’s room. He—he says—”

“Come down to the coffee-room!” he commanded.

She obeyed, blowing her nose, and saying in a muffled voice: “I beg your pardon: I am trying to compose myself!”

He shut the door. “Yes, don’t cry! What is it that Orde says?”

“That I must go home. He promised Papa, you see, and although he is very kind he doesn’t understand. He is going to take me home as soon as he can.”

“Then you haven’t much time to waste,” he said coolly. “How long will it take you to make ready?”

“It doesn’t signify. He has to go to Hungerford first to see Dr Upsall, as well as to hire a chaise.”

“I am not talking of a journey to Austerby, but of one to London. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Oh, yes, yes, indeed it is! Do you mean—But he won’t permit me!”

“Must you ask his leave? If you choose to go, my chaise is at the Halfway House, and I will drive you there immediately. Well?”

A faint smile touched his lips, for these words had acted on her magically. She was suddenly a creature transformed. “Thank you! Oh, how good you are!”

“I’ll tell Keighley not to stable the greys. Where’s Alice?”

“In my bedchamber. But will she—”

“Tell her she may have precisely fifteen minutes in which to pack up what she may need, and warn her that we shan’t stay for her,” he said, striding to the door.

“Mrs. Scaling—?”

“I’ll make all right with her,” he said, over his shoulder, and was gone.

Alice, at first bemused, no sooner learned that she would not be waited for than she cast her duster from her with the air of one who had burnt her boats, and said tersely: “I’ll go if I bust!” and rushed from the room.

Fearing that at any moment the Squire might come to find her, Phoebe dragged her portmanteau from under the bed and began feverishly to cram her clothes into it. Rather less than fifteen minutes later both damsels crept down the stairs, one clutching a portmanteau and a bandbox from under whose lid a scrap of muslin flounce protruded, the other clasping in both arms a bulky receptacle made of plaited straw.

The curricle was waiting in the yard, with Keighley at the greys’ heads and Sylvester standing beside him. Sylvester laughed when he saw the two dishevelled travellers, and came to relieve Phoebe of her burdens, saying: “My compliments! I never thought you would contrive to be ready under half an hour!”

“Well, I’m not,” she confessed. “I was obliged to leave several things behind, and—oh, dear! part of my other dress is sticking out of the bandbox!”

“You may pack it again at the Halfway House,” he said. “But straighten your hat! I will not be seen driving a lady who looks perfectly demented!”

By the time she had achieved a more respectable appearance the luggage had been stowed under the seat, and Sylvester was ready to hand her up. Alice followed her, and in another minute they were away, Keighley swinging himself up behind as the curricle moved forward.

“Shall I reach London tonight, do you think, sir?” Phoebe asked, as soon as Sylvester had negotiated the narrow entrance to the yard.

“I hope you may, but it’s more likely you will be obliged to rack up for the night somewhere. There’s no danger of running into drifts now, but it will be heavy going, with the snow turning everywhere into slush. You must leave it to Keighley to decide what is best to do.”

“The thing is, you see, that I haven’t a great deal of money with me,” she confided shyly. “In fact, very little! So if we could reach London—”

“No need to tease yourself over money. Keighley will attend to all such matters as inn charges, tolls, and changes. You will take my own team over the first few stages, but after that it must be hired cattle, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you! you are very good,” she said, rather overwhelmed. “Pray desire him to keep account of the money he may have to lay out!”

“He will naturally do so, Miss Marlow.”

“Yes, but I mean—”

“Oh, I know what you mean!” he interrupted. “You would like me to present you with a bill, and no doubt I should do so—if I were a job-master.”

“I may be very much beholden to you, Duke,” said Phoebe coldly, “but if you speak to me in that odiously snubbing way I shall—I shall—”

He laughed. “You will what?”

“Well, I don’t yet know, but I shall think of something, I promise you! Because you are quite at fault! I fancy it may be proper for you to pay the post charges, but it would be most improper for you to pay my bill at an inn!”

“Very well. If there should be such a bill I will hand it to you when next we meet.”

She inclined her head graciously. “I am obliged to you, sir.

“Is that the way I speak when I am being odiously snubbing?” inquired Sylvester.

She gave a tiny chuckle, and said handsomely: “I must own that you are not at all stupid!”

“Oh, no, I’m not stupid! I have a good memory, too. I haven’t forgotten how well you contrived to hit off a number of our acquaintances, and I make no secret of my uneasiness. You have an uncomfortable knack of hitting off just what is most ridiculous in your victims!”

She did not reply. Glancing down at her he saw a very grave look in her face. He wondered what she had found to disturb her in his bantering speech, but he did not ask, because they had by this time reached the Halfway House, and he was obliged to give his attention to the ostler, who came running to hold the greys.

It was not long before the chaise stood waiting to convey the travellers to London. Alice, who had sat lost in a beatific dream in the curricle, was quite overcome by the sight of the elegant equipage in which she was now to travel, with the crest upon its panel, its four magnificent horses stamping and fretting and tossing up their heads, its smart postilions, the deep squabs of the seats, and the sheepskin that covered the floor. To Phoebe’s dismay she burst into tears. However, when anxiously begged to say what was distressing her she replied, between snorting sobs, that she was thinking of the neighbours, denied the privilege of watching her drive off like a queen.

Relieved, Phoebe said: “Well, never mind! you will be able to tell them all about it when you go home again! Jump up, and don’t cry any more!”

“Oh, no, miss! But I do be so happy!” said Alice, preparing to clamber into the chaise.

Phoebe turned, and looked at Sylvester, waiting to hand her up the steps. Her colour rose; she put out her hand, and as he took it in his, said haltingly: “I have been trying to think how to tell you how—how very grateful I am, but I can’t find the words. But, oh, I thank you!”

“Believe me, Sparrow, you make too much of a very trifling service. Convey my compliments to Lady Ingham, and tell her that I shall do myself the honour of calling on her when I come to town. In my turn, I will convey yours to Thomas and his father!”

“Yes, pray do! I mean, you will tell Tom how it was, won’t you? And perhaps you could convey my apologies to the Squire, rather than my compliments?”

“Certainly, if that is your wish.”

“Well, I think it would be more civil. I only hope he won’t be out of reason vexed!”

“Don’t tease yourself on that head!”

“Yes, but if he should be I know you will give him one of your freezing set-downs, and that I couldn’t bear!” she said.

“I thought it would not be long before you came to the end of your unnatural civility,” he observed. “Let me assure you that I have no intention of conducting myself with anything less than propriety!”

“That’s exactly what I dread!” she said.

“Good God, what an abominable girl you are! Get into the chaise before I catch the infection!” he exclaimed, between amusement and annoyance.

She laughed, but said, apologetically, as he handed her up: “I wasn’t thinking! Truly I meant not to say one uncivil thing to you!”

“You are certainly incorrigible. I, on the other hand, am so magnanimous as to wish you a safe and speedy journey!”

“Magnanimous indeed! Thank you!”

The steps were let up; Alice’s voice was the last to be heard before the door was shut. “Hot bricks, and a fur rug, miss!” disclosed Alice. “Spanking, I call it!”

Phoebe leaned forward to wave farewell, the ostlers let go the wheelers’ heads, and the chaise started to move, swaying on its excellent springs. Sylvester stood watching it until it disappeared round a bend in the road, and then turned to Keighley, waiting beside him, the bridle of a hired riding-hack in his hand. “Get them to London tonight if you can, John, but run no risks,” he said. “Money, pistols—I think you have everything.”