“Wise youth! Is he too a budding Corinthian?”

“Oh, no! He is a soldier.”

“Like your uncle!”

“Yes, and my father, too.”

“Indeed? Tell me about him! Was he engaged at Waterloo?”

“Yes—that is, my brother was, but not my father. My father was killed at Ciudad Rodrigo.”

“I am sorry.”

His tone was grave; but he did not pursue the subject, asking her instead, after a moment or two, if her brother was with the Army of Occupation. She was grateful to him for respecting her reserve, and answered far more readily than she might have done. She seldom mentioned her family, for Mrs Underhill was interested only in the General; and although Mrs Chartley sometimes enquired kindly after her mother, and her brothers, she rarely allowed herself to be lured into giving more than civil responses, feeling that Mrs Chartley could have little interest in persons with whom she was unacquainted.

Sir Waldo was much more successful in winning her out of her reticence; and it was not many days before he knew more about Miss Trent’s family than Mrs Chartley, preoccupied with her own family and her husband’s parish, had even guessed. He knew that Will—the best of all sons and brothers!—was the incumbent of a parish in Derbyshire, and already the father of a hopeful family. He had married the daughter of one of Papa’s oldest friends, a dear, good girl, beloved of them all. Mama and Sally lived with him and Mary, and in the greatest harmony. Sally was the youngest of the family: only a schoolroom child yet, but already remarkably accomplished, and bidding fair to become a very pretty girl. Christopher joined them during the holidays, except when his uncle invited him to stay in London, and indulged him with all manner of high treats, from snipe-shooting in Regent’s Park, or skating on the Serpentine, to Astley’s Amphitheatre, and pugilistic displays at the Fives Court. Uncle Mordaunt had taken upon his shoulders the whole charge of Kit’s education at Harrow. Nothing could exceed Uncle Mordaunt’s goodness and generosity: in spite of possessing a fortune that was genteel rather than handsome he had been almost at outs with them all for refusing to live upon his bounty! But with Will so comfortably situated; and Harry now able (since he got his Company) to contribute towards the family funds; and Mama teaching Sally herself, which she was well qualified to do, being the daughter of a Professor of Greek, and (as they told her when they wanted to joke her) very blue, it would be shocking to be so much beholden.

“And the elder Miss Trent, I collect, doesn’t choose to be in any way beholden?”

“No more than I need. But you mustn’t suppose that I am not already very much obliged to my uncle and aunt, if you please! My aunt was so kind as to bring me out, as the saying is—and to spare no pains to get me eligibly riveted!” she added, a gurgle of laughter in her throat. “She had a strong persuasion that even though I’ve no fortune a respectable alliance might have been achieved for me would I but apply myself to the business! Oh, dear! I ought not to laugh at her, for she bore with me most patiently, but she is such a funny one!”

His eyes gleamed appreciatively, but he said: “Poor lady! Were you never tempted to apply yourself?”

“No, I was always old cattish,” she replied cheerfully.

“Were you indeed? Did you remain with your uncle for only one season?”

She nodded. “Yes, but pray don’t imagine that I might not have stayed had I wished to do so! To have done so when he has three daughters of his own to bring out would have been rather too strong, I thought—particularly when Bernard had got so shockingly into debt.”

“So you became a governess! Not without opposition, I should suppose!”

“Oh, no! Will and Harry made a great dust, and even Mary said she took it very unkind in me not to wish to live at their expense. They all pictured me eking out a miserable existence on a pittance—and used as if I had been a slave into the bargain! The only comfort they could find was in the thought that I could return to them if I found my lot insupportable.”

“Have you never done so?” he asked, looking rather searchingly at her.

“No, never. No doubt I might have done so, but I’ve been singularly fortunate. Miss Climping, dear creature, treated me as though I had been her niece rather than the junior mistress; and it was she who recommended me to Mrs Burford, to take charge of Tiffany.”

“Good God, do you count that good fortune?”

“Most certainly I do! My dear sir, if I were to tell you what an enormous wage I’m paid it would make you stare!”

“I know very little about such matters, but I seem to have heard that an upper man can command a bigger wage than a governess.”

“Ah, but I am a very superior governess!” she said, putting on an air of large consequence. “Only fancy! Besides such commonplace subjects as water-colour sketching and the use of the globes, I instruct my pupils in music—both pianoforte and harp; and can speak and read French and Italian!”

“I have no doubt at all that you earn every penny of your hire,” he said, smiling.

She laughed. “The mischief is that I don’t! My conscience pricks me very often, I promise you, for Charlotte has neither inclination nor aptitude; and Tiffany will do no more than commit to memory the words of an Italian song. I’ve convinced her that some skill on the pianoforte is an indispensable accomplishment for a lady with social ambitions; but nothing will prevail upon her to play the harp. She complains that it breaks her nails, and says that it is better to have pretty nails than to be able to perform upon the harp.”

“I still maintain that you earn your hire, ma’am!”

He was thinking of this interchange when she joined him on the terrace, saying: “Quite abominable!” He was well aware by this time that her position was far more that of guardian than governess; and as he believed that she had too much intelligence not to have realized what was the end to which his dealings with Tiffany were directed be lived in daily expectation of being called to book. It seemed to him that Mrs Underhill viewed Julian’s infatuation with complaisance. Far from demurring at his frequent visits she had begged them both to treat Staples as their own, standing upon no ceremony. “For very uncomfortable it must be at Broom Hall, with builders working there, and plaster-dust in everything, as well I know it is!” she had said. “So take your pot-luck with us, Sir Waldo, whenever you fancy, and be sure you’ll be very welcome!”

He said now, leading Miss Trent to one of the rustic seats on the terrace: “Very true! But do you think it will do your ravishing charge any harm to receive a few set-downs?”

“Oh, no!” she replied calmly. “I fear it won’t do her any good either—but that, after all, is not your object, is it?”

He checked her, as she was about to sit down, saying: “One moment! You will have the sun in your eyes: I’ll turn the seat a little.”

She let him do so, but said, smiling faintly: “Trying to change the subject, sir?”

“No, no! Just sparring for wind, ma’am!”

“I imagine that to be some horrid boxing cant,” she observed, seating herself. “I trust, however, that you don’t think me such a ninny as to be blind to what is yourobject?”

He sat down beside her. “No, I don’t,” he confessed. “I’ll own to you that I’ve been torn between the hope that you did know, and the dread of having a peal rung over me!”

If she blushed it was so slightly that he was unaware of it. She replied, ignoring the first part of his sentence: “Oh, I don’t mean to scold!”

“Now you have surprised me!” he remarked.

“I suppose, under certain circumstances I might scold,” she said thoughtfully. “But my situation is rather difficult. The thing is, you see, that Mrs Underhill doesn’t wish Tiffany to marry your cousin any more than you do.”

“In that case, it is a little astonishing that she should encourage Julian to run tame here,” he said sceptically.

“I daresay it may seem so to you, not knowing Tiffany as well as I—we—do. I can assure you that if her mind is set on anything the least hint of opposition is enough to goad her into going her length, however outrageous that may be. And in general it is outrageous,” she added candidly. “You will allow that an à suivie flirtation, conducted in my presence, or her aunt’s, is by far less dangerous than clandestine meetings would be. For one thing, it is not so romantic; and, for another, such meetings would of necessity be infrequent, as well as brief, and that, you know, would preclude her becoming bored with Lord Lindeth.”

He could not help smiling at her matter-of-factness, but he said: “Yes, I will allow that, ma’am. I will even concede that the girl might prevail upon Lindeth to meet her in such a way. But when you talk of her becoming bored with him I think you are wide of the mark. I daresay she may be—but Lindeth would be a big prize for her to win.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Well, it is very natural that you should think that, but she doesn’t. She means to marry a Marquis.”

“Means to—Which Marquis?”

“Any Marquis,” Ancilla replied.

“Of all the absurdities—!”

“I don’t know that. When you consider that besides beauty she is possessed of a handsome fortune you must surely own that a brilliant match is by no means impossible. In any event, I beg you won’t depress that one of her pretensions! I have suggested to her that to form a connection with a mere baron—and before she is even out!—would be perfectly bird-witted!”