At that he turned his head quickly to look at her. “Is this so indeed? Sophy, don’t trifle with me! I own, I had thought — I had hoped — Then I shall try my fortune once more, before it is too late!”

“Charlbury, for a sensible man you say the stupidest things!” Sophy told him. “Pray what do you imagine must be her answer in this predicament?”

“But if she no longer loves Fawnhope — if she perhaps regrets turning me off — ?”

“She does, of course, but it is one of those things which appear to be so easy until one considers a little more deeply. Do so! If your situations were reversed — you the impoverished poet, Augustus the man of fortune — perhaps she might be brought to listen to you. But it is not so! Here is her poet, whom she has declared she will marry despite of all her family — and you will allow that he has been uncommonly faithful to her!”

“He — ! If he has a thought to spare for anything beyond his trumpery verses, I will own myself astonished!”

“He has not, of course, but you will scarcely expect my cousin to believe that! He has attached himself to her to the exclusion of every other female since before I came to England, and that, you know, must rank in the eyes of the world as devotion of no common order! You, my poor Charlbury, labor under all the disadvantages of rank and fortune! How heartless Cecilia must be to cast off her poet to wed you! You may depend upon it that this circumstance weighs with her! Her disposition is tender. She will not, without good reason, inflict pain upon one whom she believes loves her with all his heart. There is only one thing to be done. We must give her good reason for doing so.”

He knew her well enough to feel a considerable degree of uneasiness. “For God’s sake, Sophy, what now do you mean to do?”

“Why, make her feel that it is you who are to be pitied, to be sure!”

Uneasiness changed to the deepest foreboding. “Good God! How?”

She laughed. “I daresay it will suit you better not to know, Charlbury!”

“Now, Sophy, listen to me!”

“No, why should I? You say nothing to the point, and, besides, here we are already, and there is no time to enter upon a discussion! You must continue to trust me, if you please!”

The curricle was already bowling up the sweep to the Marquesa’s door. “The lord knows I don’t, and never have!” he retorted.

They found the Marquesa alone, and surprisingly wide awake. She welcomed Sophy affectionately, yet with a little constraint, and soon disclosed that she had only returned two days since from Brighton, where she had been sojourning for a fortnight.

“Brighton!” exclaimed Sophy. “You told me nothing of this, Sancia! Pray, what took you there so suddenly?”

“But, Sophie, how should I tell you anything when you shut yourself up in a sickroom and do not visit me anymore?” complained the Marquesa. “To remain always in one place — majadero!”

“Very true, but you had the intention of living retired until Sir Horace’s return. I daresay you may have had tidings of him — ”

“No, I assure you! Not one word!”

“Oh!” said Sophy, slightly disconcerted. “Well, he had a prosperous voyage, and I daresay will be with us again at any time now. For it is not likely that at this time of year they will encounter any very unfavorable weather, you know. Has the Duke of York been staying with his brother?”

The Marquesa opened her sleepy eyes wide. “But, Sophie, how should I know? They are alike, the royal princes — gross and — what is it? Embotado! I do not know one from the other.”

Sophy was obliged to be satisfied. Her escort, when they drove away, asked curiously, “Why were you put out, Sophy? Must not the Marquesa follow the rest of the world to Brighton?”

She sighed. “Not if Sir Vincent Talgarth was there also, which is what I fear. I never saw her so animated!”

“Disappointing! She won my heart originally by falling asleep under my eyes!”

She laughed, and said no more, a slight abstraction possessing her until she was set down in Berkeley Square and found Mr. Rivenhall awaiting her return in considerable ill humor. This instantly revived her, and she had no hesitation in informing him, upon demand, where she had been.

“You did not go alone!”

“By no means. Charlbury drove me there.”

“I see! First you must set the town talking with Talgarth, and now with Charlbury! Famous!”

“I do not perfectly understand you,” said Sophy, as one innocently seeking enlightenment. “I thought your objection to Sir Vincent was that he has the name for being a great rake. Surely you do not suspect Charlbury of this! Why, you were even desirous at one time of wedding your sister to him!”

“I am even more desirous that my cousin should not earn for herself the reputation of being fast!”

“Why?” asked Sophy, looking him in the eye. He made her no answer, and, after a moment, she said, “What right have you, Charles, to take exception to what I may choose to do?”

“If your own good taste — ”

“What right, Charles?”

“None!” he said. “Do as you please! It can be of no consequence to me! You have an easy conquest in Everard! I had not thought him so fickle. Take care you do not lose your other suitor through encouraging this flirtation — for that is all I believe it to be!”

“Bromford? Now, what a shocking thing would that be! You do right to put me on my guard! Charlbury lives in dread of being called out by him.”

“I might have known I should meet with nothing but levity in you!”

“If you will scold me so absurdly. I am not always so.”

“Sophy — !” He took a hasty step toward her, his hand going out, but almost immediately dropping to his side again. “I wish you had never come amongst us!” he said, and turned away, to lean his arm along the mantelpiece, and stare down at the empty grate.

“That is not kind, Charles.” He was silent.

“Well, you will be rid of me soon, I daresay. I depend upon seeing Sir Horace at any time now. You will be glad!”

“I must be glad.” The words were uttered almost inaudibly, and he did not raise his head or make any movement to prevent her leaving the room.

The exchange had taken place in the library. She stepped out into the hall just as Dassett opened the front door to admit Mr. Wychbold, very natty in a driving coat of innumerable capes, shining hessians, and an enormous nosegay stuck into his buttonhole. He was in the act of laying his tall beaver hat down upon a marble-topped table, but at sight of Sophy he used it to lend flourish to his bow. “Miss Stanton-Lacy. Very obedient servant, ma’am!”

She was surprised to see him, for he had been out of town for some weeks. As she shook hands, she said, “How delightful this is! I did not know you were in London! How do you do?”

“Only reached town today, ma’am. Heard of your troubles from Charlbury. Never more shocked in my life! Came at once to inquire!”

“That is like you! Thank you, she is almost well now, although dreadfully thin, poor little dear, and languid still! You are the very person I wished to see! Are you driving yourself? Must you instantly see my cousin, or will you take me for a turn round the Park?”

He was driving his phaeton, and there could be only one answer to her request. With the greatest gallantry he bowed her out of the house, warning her, however, that she would encounter none but Cits in the Park at this season.

“And what, sir, would you have me say to Mr. Rivenhall?” asked Dassett, fixing his disapproving eye on a point above Mr. Wychbold’s left shoulder.

“Oh, tell him I called and was sorry to find him from home!” replied Mr. Wychbold, with an insouciance the butler found offensive.

“Have you been out in your own phaeton, ma’am?” Mr. Wychbold asked, as he handed Sophy into the carriage. “How do your bays go on?”

“Very well. I have not been driving them today, however, but have been to Merton with Charlbury.”

“Oh — ah!” he said, with a slight cough and a sidelong look.

“Yes, making myself the talk of the town!” Sophy said merrily. “Who told you so? The archenemy?”

He set his pair in motion, nodding gloomily, “Came smash up to her in Bond Street on my way here. Felt obliged to stop. She has put off her black ribands!”

“And means to marry Charles next month!” said Sophy, who, having reached habits of easy intercourse with Mr. Wychbold, never stood upon ceremony with him.

“Told you so,” he pointed out, with a certain melancholy satisfaction.

“So you did, and I replied that I might need your good offices. Do you make a prolonged stay in town, or are you off again immediately?”

“Next week. But, y’know, ma’am, there ain’t anything to be done! Pity, but there it is!”

“We shall see. What do you think would happen if you were to tell Charles one day that you had seen me driving off in a post chaise and four with Charlbury?”

“He would plant me a facer,” responded Mr. Wychbold, without hesitation. “What’s more, shouldn’t blame him!”

“Oh!” said Sophy, disconcerted. “Well, I am sure I don’t wish him to do that. But if it were true?”

“Wouldn’t believe me. No need for you to ,go off with Charlbury. Not the kind of fellow to engage in such freaks, either.”

“I know that, but it might be contrived. He would not plant you a facer if you only asked him why I was leaving town with Charlbury for my escort, would he?”

After giving this his consideration, Mr. Wychbold admitted that he might be spared the facer on these terms.

“Will you do it?” Sophy asked him. “If I were to send you word to your lodgings, would you make certain that Charles knows of it? Is he not always at White’s in the afternoon?”