He gave a laugh like a groan, kissing her again, tightening his arms round her until she could scarcely breathe. Then he seemed to recollect himself a little, and slackened his hold, exclaiming shakily: “I must reek of brandy!”

“You do!” she told him frankly. “Never mind it! I daresay I shall soon grow accustomed to it.”

He released her, pressing his hands over his eyes. “Hell and the devil! I’m jug-bitten—drunk as a wheelbarrow! I can’t—” His hands dropped, he demanded almost angrily: “What brings you here? O God, why did you come?”

“The mail-coach brought me, love, and I’ll tell you why presently. Oh, my dear friend, I have so much to tell you! But first we must pay off the chaise. Imber seems not to have any money, so will you let him have your purse, if you please?”

“What chaise?”

“The one I hired in York to bring me here. I hadn’t enough of my own money left—in fact, I am run quite off my legs, and must now hang on your sleeve! Damerel, do, pray, give me your purse!”

He dived a hand mechanically into his pocket, but apparently he was not carrying his purse, for he brought it out again empty. His love, apostrophizing him affectionately as a castaway pea-goose, turned from him to go in search of Aubrey, and found that Imber was standing in the doorway, his face a study in disapproval, curiosity, and astonishment.

“Marston is paying the postboy, miss,” he said. “But, begging your pardon, if he’s to be sent back to York—Miss Venetia, you don’t mean to stay here?”

“Yes, I do,” she responded. “Tell Marston to send the chaise away, if you please!”

This seemed to penetrate to Damerel’s somewhat clouded brain. “No!” he said forcefully, if a little huskily.

“No, my lord,” agreed Imber, relieved. “Shall I tell him to rack up for a while, or—”

“Pay no heed to his lordship!” said Venetia. “Surely you must be able to see that he is not himself! Send the chaise off, and then, if you don’t wish me to drop into a swoon, do, I implore you, fetch me some supper! All I’ve eaten since yesterday is one slice of bread-and-butter, and I am famished! Tell Mrs. Imber I beg her pardon for being so troublesome, and that some cold meat will do very well!”

Imber looked for guidance towards his master, but as Damerel was occupied in an attempt to marshal his disordered wits, and paid no attention to him, he went reluctantly away to carry out Venetia’s orders.

“Venetia!” said Damerel, raising his head from between his hands, and speaking with painstaking clarity. “You can’t remain here. I won’t let you. Out of the question. Not so top-heavy I don’t know that.”

“Nonsense, my dear friend! Aubrey is all the chaperon I need. Where is he, by the by?”

He shook his head. “Not here. Gone—forgot the fellow’s name—some parson! Grinder.”

“What, is Mr. Appersett home again?” she exclaimed. “I knew I dared not wait another hour! Has Aubrey left you already? Oh, well! It can’t be helped, and, to own the truth, I don’t care a rush!”

He frowned. “Not left me. Gone to dine at the Parsonage. Appersett. Yes, that’s right. He came home yesterday—or the day before. Can’t remember. But it doesn’t signify. You can’t remain here.”

She regarded him with a sapient eye. “Yes, I see how it is,” she remarked. “I daresay it is the same with every man, for I recall that whenever Conway was in the least disguised he would take some notion into his head, in general an idiotish one, and hold to it buckle and thong!”

He repeated, very creditably: “‘Idiotish’!” A laugh shook him. “I thought I should never hear you say that again!”

“Do I say it a great deal?” she asked, and then, as he nodded: “Oh dear, how very tiresome of me! I must take care!”

“No. Not tiresome. But,” said his lordship, sticking to his guns, “you can’t remain here.”

“Well, I warn you, love, that if you cast me out I shall build me a willow cabin at your gates—and very likely die of an inflammation of the lungs, for November is not the month for building willow cabins! Oh, good-evening, Marston! Have you paid the postboy for me? I am very much obliged to you!”

“Good-evening, ma’am,” said the valet, with one of his rare smiles. “May I say how very happy I am to see you here again?”

“Thank you—I am very happy to be here!” she replied warmly. “But what is to be done? Here is his lordship threatening to turn me out of doors: not at all happy to see me!”

“Just so, ma’am,” said Marston, casting an experienced glance at Damerel. “Perhaps if you would care to step up to Mr. Aubrey’s room, to take off your bonnet and pelisse—? There is a nice fire burning there, and I have instructed the housemaid to carry up a can of hot water, if you should wish to wash your hands. Also your portmanteau, ma’am.”

She nodded, and crossed the room to the door.

“No!” said Damerel obstinately. “Listen to me!”

“Yes, my lord, in one moment!” replied Marston, ushering Venetia out of the room, and pulling the door to behind him. “The room next to Mr. Aubrey’s shall be prepared for you, ma’am. I should perhaps explain that Mr. Aubrey has driven over to dine at the Parsonage: but he will be back presently.” He added, in a reassuring tone: “His lordship will very soon be himself again, ma’am.”

“Marston, has he been getting foxed often?” Venetia asked bluntly.

“Oh, no, ma’am! He has been dipping rather deep, perhaps, but only when Mr. Aubrey has gone up to bed.” He hesitated, and then added, in his expressionless way: “It is always a sign of trouble with his lordship when he makes indentures, if you will pardon my saying so, ma’am.”

She looked frankly into his impassive countenance. “Has he been in trouble, Marston?”

“Yes, ma’am. In worse trouble than I have ever known him to suffer.”

She nodded, and said with a little smile: “We must see what can be done to cure that.”

“Yes, ma’am: I should be extremely glad,” said Marston, bowing slightly. “May I suggest supper in—about half an hour?”

She was so hungry that it took considerable resolution to enable her to suppress an instinctive protest; but she managed to do it, and even to acquiesce graciously, since it was evident that he wished her to keep out of the way. She went upstairs, and was rewarded for her docility as soon as she caught sight of her reflection in the looking-glass in Aubrey’s bedchamber. In the indifferent light provided by the one candle brought in by the chambermaid at the inn she had dressed by guess, and had done no more than drag a comb hastily through her curls before tieing on her hat; but Marston had caused two branches of candles to be set on the dressing-table, and in their relentless light Venetia saw with horror that she presented almost as dishevelled an appearance as did her castaway host. All thought of supper forgotten, she ripped off her hat, flung her pelisse on to the bed, and set about the urgent task of making herself once more fit to be seen. By the time this had been accomplished rather more than half an hour had elapsed. She disposed a very handsome zephyr shawl across her elbows, in the approved mode, took a last, critical look at her reflection, blew out the candles, and went downstairs again to the dining-room.

Here she found matters much improved, all traces of debauch having been removed, the table freshly laid, the fire made up, and Damerel, his disordered attire set severely to rights, miraculously sobered. He was in the act of draining a tankard when Venetia entered the room. She looked a little doubtfully at it, but whatever its contents had been they seemed to have exercised a beneficial effect upon his system, for he said in a perfectly clear voice, as he handed the empty tankard to Marston: “That’s better! Bread-and-cheese, and I shall do.” He turned, and smiled at Venetia, saying lightly, but with a glow in his eyes that warmed her heart: “Quite starving, my poor child? You shall be served immediately! Come and sit down—and let me set your anxious mind at rest! I won’t drive you from my roof: we have hit on a better scheme—or, to be honest, Marston has done so! My head isn’t yet capable of devising schemes. You have come here to consult with Aubrey on some important matter—don’t forget that!—and I am going to remove to the Red Lion. Thus we observe the proprieties!” He pushed in her chair, as she seated herself at the table, and added, still in that light tone: “You are doing your hair in a new way: very smart!”

She realized that he was going to be difficult, but she was not much perturbed. Whatever his tongue might utter, his eyes betrayed him. She said chattily: “Do you like it? I hope you do, for I’m assured that it’s all the crack!”

He had moved to his own chair, and he now lifted his quizzing-glass to one eye. “Yes, excellent! A la Sappho, I fancy.”

“Wretch!” she said, with her infectious chuckle. “Do you know the names of all the styles of female coiffure?”

“Most of ’em, I think,” he replied brazenly. He sat down, letting his quizzing-glass fall on the end of its long ribbon. “What has brought you here, Venetia?”

“The mail coach—and excessively uncomfortable it was!”

“Don’t quibble, girl!”

She smiled at him, saying softly: “Stoopid!”

She won no answering smile; he was looking pale, and rather grim; and after a tiny pause, he said: “I wish to God you had not come!”

“Oh! That’s—that’s a horrid set-down, particularly when it seemed to me that you were glad to see me.”

“I was badly foxed—I’m still a trifle concerned, but no longer out of my senses!”

“Oh, dear, do you mean to kiss me only when you’re foxed?”