“Certainly, Lady Ampleforth,” said Miss Abinger, in her colourless way. “Come, Lady Harriet!”

She laid her hand on Harriet’s trembling arm, and almost propelled her to the door. When she had firmly closed this behind them, she said in a warmer tone: “My dear, try to compose yourself! What is the matter?”

“Oh, Abby, I don’t know!” Harriet replied, in some agitation. “Only I did not look for this, and I do not wish—I do not think—”

“Forgive me, but I had not supposed that you were indifferent to the Duke.”

“Not indifferent, no!” Harriet said, averting her face. “But he—!”

They had reached the half-landing before Miss Abinger replied. She said then: “I believe the Duke entertains feelings of the warmest regard for you, my love. He is a very amiable young man, and one who will not fail to treat you with all the courtesy and consideration one could wish for you. Indeed, I think you are to be envied! I know your mind to be of too nice a tone to care for such things, but you will occupy a position of the first consequence, and you will enjoy great wealth. Reflect that in addition to this you will have a husband who partakes of many of your sentiments, and is, I am persuaded, the model of compliance and good nature.”

“He does not love me,” Harriet said. “It is his uncle’s doing, and Mama’s. I know it, Abby!”

“I shall not dispute with you on that head, my dear Lady Harriet, and I believe it will not serve to discuss it. Yet I must venture to tell you that I do not by any means despair of your happiness in this alliance. You know, it is not commonly the thing for persons in your station in life to make what is called a love-match.”

“No,” Harriet agreed dejectedly.

They had reached the upper floor by this time. As Miss Abinger grasped the door-handle of Harriet’s bedroom, she added deliberately: “You are not always quite at your ease in your home, dear Lady Harriet. I fancy you may be happier in an establishment of your own. But I have said too much, and we shall soon have your mama coming up to fetch you!”

Harriet coloured, but was silent. While Miss Abinger directed the maid to unpack her mistress’s cambric muslin, she waited, looking out of the window between the lace blinds. Her colour faded gradually, and she was able in a few minutes to reply to a chance question with tolerable composure. It was by no means Miss Abinger’s business to dress the hair of her pupils, but she elected to do so, and with so much taste that when Lady Ampleforth came into the room presently she nodded approvingly, and said: “Very well, indeed! I could wish that you had a trifle more countenance, my love, but you look very becomingly. But hold yourself up, if you please! An air of languor can never be pleasing in a girl, remember! Now, if you are ready, we will go downstairs.”

“I am quite ready, Mama.”

Lady Ampleforth preceded her out of the room, but paused at the head of the stairs to take her hand. “There is no need for you to feel the slightest embarrassment, Harriet,” she said kindly. “Sale is a very pretty-behaved young man, and his manners reflect the greatest credit on his upbringing. I only wish your brother had them! I daresay he will do or say nothing to make you blush. Besides, I should not think of leaving you alone together, so have no fears on that score!”

“No, Mama,” said Harriet.

Lord Ampleforth and the Duke were standing in front of the fire in the book-room, conversing in a desultory and  uncomfortable fashion. Lord Ampleforth was looking rather more harassed than before; and half an hour of his future mother-in-law’s brisk, managing talk had so much oppressed the Duke’s spirits that he bore the appearance more of one about to face a severe ordeal than of a hopeful suitor. He directed an anxious, questioning look at Harriet, but she kept her eyes lowered, and did not perceive it.

“Ah, my child!” said Ampleforth, going to meet her. “I think your mama has told you that I have just received a very flattering offer for your hand.” He took it as he spoke, and gave it a fond squeeze. “But I have told Gilly that I will not have you constrained, and you shall give him your own answer.”

He drew her forward; the Duke, miserably tongue-tied, managed to utter a few formal sentences; and Harriet, ready to sink, curtsied, and whispered a reply of which “very much obliged,” and “most truly sensible of the honour,” were the only audible words.

Her father, apparently taking these to mean consent, held out her hand to the Duke, who took it in his own ice-cold one, and kissed it. He said: “You have made me very happy. I beg you to believe that I shall do everything in my power to—to make you happy too, Harriet!”

“No one who knows you could doubt that, Gilly, I am sure!” Ampleforth said. “I don’t scruple to say that you are two very fortunate young persons. I am sure I do not know which of you has the better disposition! Lady Ampleforth, I have something I wish to say to you! We will beg Gilly to excuse us for a minute.”

Her ladyship was so much astonished at having such tactics employed against her that she could think of nothing to say, except what she was too well-bred to say in front of a guest. Her husband was holding open the door, and she saw nothing for it but to leave the room with him. The Duke and his betrothed were left shyly confronting one another.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then the Duke saw how pale Harriet was, and how much her hands trembled, and compassion made him forget his own ill-ease, and he said; “I hope you do not dislike it very much! I shall do my utmost not to give you cause for any unhappiness. You won’t find me exacting, I promise, or—or—”

“No, I do not dislike it,” Harriet answered, in a low voice. “I shall try to be dutiful, and to behave just as you would wish. I—I have always had a—a great regard for you, Gilly.”

“And I for you, dear Harriet,” he responded at once. “I do think we—we may suit very well. It shall not be my fault if we do not.”

She looked up at that. “I hope—oh, I hope it may never be mine! Forgive me! I find myself a little overcome! I had not the expectation—that is, I did not think you were in London, or that—you entertained for me those feelings which—”

She broke off in confusion. He possessed her himself of her hand again. “Indeed, I am excessively attached to you!” he stammered; “I wish you were not going out of town immediately! It must have been my—my earnest endeavour to show you—But I may come to Bath, and you will allow me to squire you to all the dress-balls!” he added, with an attempt at lightness.

A smile trembled on her lips. “Oh, yes! You know how well our steps suit!”

“Yes, indeed! I am sure there is no one I am happier to stand up with, for you never make me feel myself to be such a miserable dwarf of a fellow!”

“Oh, Gilly, how can you? You are no such thing!”

He laughed. “Ah, you should hear my cousin Gideon on that head!”

“You should hear Gaywood!” she retorted, gaining confidence. “He calls me a poor little dab of a creature!”

“Brothers! We shall not care a fig for them, or cousins either!” he said. He saw that she was looking less pale, and ventured to loss her cheek.

Lady Ampleforth came back into the room in time to witness this embrace. Her sharp eyes detected Harriet’s blush, and the way her hand went up as though to clasp the Duke’s coat collar. She said: “Well, I make no doubt you have settled it all between you! It is an unfortunate circumstance that we should be going out of town at this precise moment, but I shall look to see you at Ampleforth, Duke, next month. Harriet must go to Bath: there is no getting out of that, for old Lady Ampleforth expects her, and we must not cast her into one of her pets, you know.”

The young couple fell apart guiltily; constraint descended upon them again; and by the time her ladyship had discussed various convenient dates for the wedding-ceremony, and estimated the length of time it would take her to procure Harriet’s bride-clothes, the Duke was thankful to take his leave.

When he had been bowed out, Lord Ampleforth, who had been observing his daughter narrowly, said: “My dear Harriet, are you quite happy in this engagement? You must not hesitate to tell me if your mind has any misgiving!”

“No, Papa, I am quite happy,” she said.

“Good God, Ampleforth, what can you be thinking of?” exclaimed his wife. “Fray, what more could any girl desire I should like to know? To be Duchess of Sale! That is something indeed! Harriet, I wish you will come up to my dressing-room, for there is a great deal I want to say to you!”

She swept her daughter out of the room, saying as she closed the door: “Your papa has some odd fancies, but I trust I have brought you up to know your duty! It was an awkward business, his calling me out of the room as he did, but I returned to you as soon as I might. Sale looked to be in tolerably good health, I thought.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“He was the sickliest child! I am sure no one thought to see him survive! He is not as well-grown as one could wish, but he is very well made, and has excellent manners. Perhaps he is not precisely good-looking, but there is nothing in his air or countenance to disgust one.”

“I think him very good-looking, Mama,” Harriet said, in a subdued voice.

Lady Ampleforth entered the dressing-room, thrust an empty band-box off a chair, and sat down. “Yes, very likely, my love, and that brings me to what I wish to say to you. Shut the door! Now, sit down, and attend to me a little!” She waited until this command had been obeyed, and then said, twitching her shawl round her shoulders: “I have often observed, Harriet, that you have just a little nonsense in you which will not do. I shall speak frankly to you, and I daresay you may thank me for it one day. I did not quite like to see you hanging so upon Sale, as you were when I came into the book-room just now. You know, my dear child, he will not be looking for you to wear your heart upon your sleeve: in fact, I can think of nothing more likely to disgust him. I must surely have told you a dozen times that a lady of quality must not behave as though she were Miss Smith of Heaven knows where! I shall never forget my own dear mama’s telling me how the Duchess of Devonshire—the first wife of the late Duke, I mean!—actually sat down upon his Grace’s knee once, when she was but a bride! And her mortification when he repulsed her! It quite makes one blush to think of it. But I believe Lady Spencer—she was one of those blue-stocking women, you know!—brought her daughters up in the oddest fashion! I should not like to think that you, my dear Harriet, would so far forget yourself. Such manners may do very well for parvenues, but whatever your brother Gaywood may have told you, they will not do for you. Sale has not been reared in this modern style, which permits all kinds of license, and, depend upon it, he will expect his wife to conduct herself with fitting decorum. It has been very justly observed, my love—I forget by whom—that if you meet with tenderness in private from your husband, you will have no cause for complaint.”