Corinna Steps In

30

Corinna Steps In

    “Oh, how vewwy silly!” cried Lady Frayn gaily.

    The inhabitants of the Deanery looked at her sourly.

    “Have you at least spoken to Millicent, Judith?”

    Lady Judith replied heavily: “I have called several times. On all but one occasion she was surrounded by young women. On the occasion on which she was not, I attempted to represent to her her entire suitability for the post of Sleyven’s countess, but all she would say was that her sojourn in London had convinced her that she was completely unfit to hold such a position. And,” she said in a hard voice, as Corinna opened her mouth, “that the deception which she fondly believed herself to have been practising upon him must surely prove as much to myself, were I to let my reason rule my kind heart.”

    “Kind heart? You?” cried her sister, going into a trill of silvery laughter.

    “Yes, very amusing,” said Lady Judith grimly.

    “Kind hearts, coronets, or no, the fact remains that she is obdurate,” said the Dean.

    “Have you spoken to her yourself, David?” demanded his sister-in-law.

    “Er—no,” he said, clearing his throat.

    “No? Dea’west David, one would never have taken you for a coward!” she gurgled.

    “A rank coward," corrected Lady Judith grimly.

    Corinna nodded hard, giggling.

    “He has also,” added his spouse, giving him a look of loathing, “refused to speak to Sleyven.”

    “Oh, David!” cried Corinna reproachfully.

    “Judith is exaggerating,” said the Dean with a sigh. “Of course I have spoken to him, as much as one may without overstepping the line: after all, I barely know him, and the whole thing is absolutely none of my business. He merely said that he would marry her tomorrow but that Miss Burden appears to have convinced herself that she is not fitted for the position.”

    “Wubbish," replied Corinna firmly.

    “Very well, then, see if you may do better!” said her sister angrily.

    “One could hardly do worse,” she noted. “I shall call at Maunsleigh tomowwow—howwid old bawwacks," she noted by the by.

    “The Partridge woman is there,” warned the Dean.

    “Splendid,” replied Corinna, sticking her little chin in the air. “I am vewwy sure that Myrtle Partwidge feels just as we do on the subject.”

    “True. Her mention of little ones about the knee did not, however, appear to strike quite the right note with your cousin the last time we dined with them,” noted the Dean.

    At this Lady Frayn, sad to relate, went into a most tremendous giggling fit.

    … “But Jarvis, dear man, you have not twied to see her!” she cried.

    Fetching though her Ladyship’s outfit of bronzy wool was, with its extravagant bronze, green and gold feathered muff matching the feathers on the bonnet, the Earl gave her a look of marked disfavour. “I have tried several times. When she is alone she refuses me the house. When she is not alone, she barely speaks and refuses to let the young women with whom the cottage has become infested leave us alone together.”

    “How pwoper!” said Corinna with a giggle. “Countessly, indeed. –No, no, I will be good! Has not some enterpwising fwiend or welative held a party, at which you might perhaps dwaw her into one of those delicious things we had in India?”

    “A stand-up fight?” he suggested arctically.

    “No, no, no, you naughty man! Goodness, do you wemember that time that poor darling Poppy and Little Nellie Hawwison all but came to blows over that stupid countwy dance?”

    “If you mean Brigadier-General Harrison, and in front of the whole of Calcutta, yes, vividly. It is not the sort of scene one could forget.”

    “You’re not telling me that Little Nellie is a Bwigadier?” she cried.

    Jarvis eyed her drily. “Mm.”

    Suddenly recollecting that reminiscences of India days were not the purpose of her afternoon call, Corinna said hastily: “Well, I cannot imagine it, but enough of that! Little withdwawing places— I have it! Kala juggas!”

    “Er—oh. No, no kind friend has thrown that sort of party, Cousin.”

    “But this is widiculous! I shall speak to Judith.”

    “You may do so with my good will,” he said with a sigh, “but Miss Burden will refuse to attend.”

    “Only if someone is silly enough to tell her that you are invited, dear man.”

    “True.”

    “I shall speak to her myself,” she promised, smiling at him.

    “You are very good, Cousin, but it will do no good.”

    Ignoring this, Corinna added: “And you must w’ite her a lovely note.”

    “Er—I am not much of a hand at lovely notes, Cousin.”

    Lady Frayn opened her eyes very wide. “I could wead it thwough for you, my dear.”

    “No, thank you so much.”

    She immediately collapsed in a tremendous giggling fit, shaking the bonnet at him; but emerged from it to say: “Will you?”

    “Send her a note? It is not a bad idea, but will she read it?”

    “Send it by Hutton and order him to make sure she weads it, you silly man.”

    Jarvis winced.

    “Now, pwomise!” she demanded.

    “Er—yes. Very well, I promise.”

    She nodded, the bright little eyes narrowing. “Vewwy good. And I shall speak to that little Miss staying with Millicent: I think one needs an ally in the house, do not you? The one with the naughty twinkle in her eye: I forget her name.”

   “The one who rather resembles yourself? A Miss Lattersby.”

    “Howwors, not one of Neville’s girls?” she cried.

    “You know everybody, don't you?” he conceded with a sigh. “No, I think he is her uncle. Her father is a Major Lattersby. Recently posted as an aide in Brazil.”

    “Good gwacious, yes! The darlingest, naughtiest man!”

    “So one gathers, mm.”

    “Though not nearly as attwactive as yourself, dear man!” she said gaily, rising. “All that hidden fire under that cold exterior: thwilling!” She shuddered all over.

    “Eh?” said his Lordship, very taken aback.

    “Darling one, it was ever your major asset! Well, that and the figure, which one has to admit,” she said, eyeing him up and down, “is enough to make the modestest maiden or pwope’west matwon dweam o’ nights! Thank goodness you have kept it!”

    ”For God’s sake, Corinna!” he said, very red.

    “It’s the pwoportions, I think: though some have been heard to maintain it’s the bweadth of the shoulders combined with the slimness of the hips,” she said deeply.

    “Go away, you impossible creature, before I strangle you,” he sighed.

    “I am most certainly going, for I have yet to see Millicent,”—the Earl blenched—“and then, we are pwomised a haunch of the finest mutton in England for tonight’s dinner.” Her eyes twinkled. “Pwovided by a Mr Cuthbertson.”

    “You’re not dining with old Cuthbertson?” said Jarvis limply.

    “Most certainly. He has a widowed sister staying with him, and wode over himself to assure us that the mutton would be the finest in England!”

    “Another conquest, is he?” said the Earl drily, ringing the bell.

    “Oh, one would not care to boast!” replied Corinna with a gurgle.

    “Poor old Cuthbertson,” he concluded, bowing her out.

    Lady Frayn, of course, merely laughed.

    He saw her to her carriage and was somewhat stunned when three fluffy white furry faces appeared at its window.

    “I do not suppose,” she said on an artless note, “that you would care for a puppy, Cousin Sleyven?”

    “No, I would not. What in God’s name are they?”

    “They are not quite puppies any more: the darlingest things. Well, you see, we had a few people fwom the Wussian Embassy down for Chwistmas, and naughty Pyotr Chessinsky positively forced them on one, merely because one had expwessed a wish for a pair of pwetty dogs that would make that cat Nessa Weaver-Gwange look sick when one walked them in the Park.”

    “One, two, three," counted Jarvis drily.

    “Yes, it is wa-ather excessive, no? Do you think Millicent would care for one?”

    “Possibly she would, though I think she prefers cats. What are they, how big do they grow, and how much might they eat?”

    “Er—well, that is wather a point!” she confessed. “They are a bweed of Wussian dog. Pyotr says one uses them as sled dogs, or some such, in any event it is all too Womantic and thwilling, scenes of the myste’wious Steppes, you know, but—”

    “Corinna,” he said grasping her arm firmly, “Millicent will not wish for a damned giant sled dog, however pretty it might be in its present manifestation.”

    “Oh, they are just as pwetty when they are gwown: even fluffier! –With ermine, no? Or Arctic fox: now, that would make the Weaver-Gwange female look sick!”

    “Wear what you please with ’em, but leave Millicent out of it.”

    “Not me, dear man; I meant Millicent. Her complexion can stand pure white: for myself, I would have to go for a contwast. Would a full-length Arctic fox cape be too much for the Wynton exchequer?”

    “Y— N— Don’t dare to say any such thing to her,” he said limply.

    His cousin merely gave a naughty gurgle, and went on her way, waving merrily.

    “He is beautiful,” admitted Midge limply as Lady Frayn introduced Dumpkin: not a Russian name, an invention of her own, a compound of Dumpling and Fluffkin, or such was her claim. Though she assured Miss Burden earnestly that one might rename him if one so wished.

    Miss Waldgrave noting injudiciously that he had very large paws, the which surely was an indication of a very large dog to come, Lady Frayn simply whisked Midge away in the carriage.

    It took her approximately fifteen minutes to reduce her to an overwrought burst of tears and the angry confession that of course she loved him, but she was entirely unsuitable for him, and it was not to be thought of.

    “He does twuly love you, silly man, but you know, he is not at all used to encounte’wing opposition,” she said with a concealed twinkle in that clever eye, “so of course did not know how to go on, when he encountered it in you, and vewwy natuwally made a mull of the thing. Well, they are all like that, my dear Millicent,” she said, patting Midge’s hand, “and though I beg you will not let her know it, I am inclined to agwee with Judith’s opinion, which is, that they are entirely at a loss where the emotions are concerned, and once anything does not wun the way their silly, inflexible male minds have conceived it ought, are completely nonplussed!”

    Midge gulped.

    “Anyone of any sense whatsoever,” continued Lady Frayn blithely, “would either not have let you know at all that he was aware of your little twick, or would have told you immediately and got you to admit you did love him in spite of it. But then, we are not concerned here with the sex with sense, are we?”

    Midge merely gulped again.

    “But the fact that he then determined to pay you back in your own coin and foisted Myrtle and Bwother on you does not at all mean that he does not adore you, my dear.”

    Midge was now very red and did not know where to look. So she patted Dumpkin instead. He immediately scrambled onto her knee, panting loudly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

    ”He is the most loving of the thwee: I am a heartless cweature, you know, and will no doubt neglect them shamefully,” said her Ladyship blithely: “so I do beg you will take him, Millicent. Cwystal and Chwistopher, as you see, are content to snuggle down together and keep each other company, but Dumpkin has always wequired more petting.”

    Midge could see that: she nodded limply.

    “Good, then that is settled!” said the naughty Corinna gaily.

    “But I— Oh, dear,” said Midge limply as Dumpkin of the enormous paws licked her hand in a slavish manner and looked up at her with great adoring eyes.

    “Now, what can I do to help?” her Ladyship offered kindly.

    “Luh-Lady Frayn, you are very kind, buh-but you cannot do anything,” gulped Midge, very near tears again, “for even you cannot turn me into a fine lady.”

    “One can do nothing about your birth, but it is quite wespectable. So we shall not wepine over it. The west may be acquired, and I think you have acquired a good deal—no?”

    “N— Y— No, you see, I was but pretending!” gasped Midge.

    “Yes, yes, but you are not stupid, my dear, and you most certainly could not have pwetended to wetain all that nonsense about the china and so forth which Mr Partwidge was telling us you learnt so nicely.”

    “Like a parrot,” said Midge limply.

    “Of course, but that does not signify. –I suppose you would not care for a pawwot?”

    “A parrot? Er—no, thank you. I really think that Mischief will have a hard enough time of it dealing with a dog in the house.”

    “One might keep the bird in one’s parlour, and exclude the cat fwom it?” she said hopefully.

    Midge perceived that her Ladyship was not a cat person. “No; I am afraid that would not work, your Ladyship, but thank you for the offer,” she said firmly.

    “Oh, well, it was just an idea,” she said with a sigh. “Teddy Fortescue gave it me for Chwistmas, and it has taken a personal dislike to Oliphant, my butler, who has been with me fo’wever. It scweams at him, you see, my dear. One would not mind if it merely confined itself to swea’wing—though one admits that that might iwwitate poor Oliphant! But the scweaming is beyond enduwance. I shall have to find an acquaintance with young childwen, and donate it to the schoolwoom, for educational purposes.”

    “Er—yes,” said Midge limply. “Er—was this Sir Theodore Fortescue?”

    “Of course, my dear. And the on-dit that they are sending him to Wussia is too twue, and Charlotte Fortescue is wabid about it!”

    “Good gracious, so Wellington’s influence prevailed, after all?” said Midge.

    “Oh, yes. But it was not entirely that, you know: Charlotte’s third son is gwowing up unbelievably like a certain august personage,” she said, nodding the bonnet significantly, “and so it was thought tactful to get the family out of it for a while.”

    “So that rumour was true,” said Midge limply. “I thought it was just one of Mrs Weaver-Grange’s stories.”

    “Oh, Lord, no, my love, it has been known any time these past… my, fourteen years!” she said, counting on her fingers. “How time does fly!”

    “Yes,” said Midge, her throat tight. Fourteen years ago the main personages in that drama had been in India.

    “My dear, it is perfectly twue that it all happened in India, and of course they knew Michael Marsh quite well—after all, he was a Marsh, if he had mawwied that impossible cweature—and whatever Nessa may have told you about Jarvis’s socialising with them all in those days is pwobably twue, too—”

    “Yes,” said Midge faintly.

    “Quite; but, as I was saying, however twue it may be, you must stop your mind wunning on such things. It is all over now, and at its height it was only the sort of physical enthwalment in which cweatures such as K.M. specialise: she has no notion of attaching the heart or the affections, for you know she has none herself.”

    Possibly this speech should have cheered Miss Burden up, but instead she cried dreadfully all over poor Dumpkin, at first, and then on Lady Frayn’s shoulder.

    “There, there,” said Corinna at last. “We shall make it all better.”

    “I can’t do all those thiggs,” said Midge soggily.

    “Anyone can, and you have already made splendid pwogwess.”

    “Lady Frayn,” she said, clutching at her Ladyship’s elegant sleeve, “I truly do not think that he—he believes I could be suitable for the position.”

    “On the contwawy, my dear, he thinks that you would be ideal.”

    “You mean that he has changed his mind,” said Midge, her cheeks flaming, “and now thinks that it does not matter that I am not the right sort of lady. He said as much to me. But do you not see, that in that case, I must insist that it does matter?”

    Corinna could certainly see that Miss Burden had persuaded herself that she ought and that there was little point in arguing with her on this question. “I do understand, my dear, and I quite agwee. I think it is up to Jarvis to assure you how much he loves you. But believe me, you and I together may work vewwy hard and ensure that you become the ideal hostess and countess for him.”

    Midge swallowed.

    “Do you not want it?” said Corinna, touching her hand softly.

    “Of course I want it,” she said wanly, a tear trickling down her cheek. “But I don’t think I can. I—I kept making frightful faux pas, in London.”

    “But everybody does at first, my dear, and that is why Aunt Cawoline took you up at that stage: before any official engagement, you know, and only in the Little Season,” said the cunning Corinna, “so as you could get some of yours out of the way. Gwacious, well do I wemember my first big dinner party for poor Poppy! Well, he was vewwy much older, you know, my dear, and alweady quite eminent in his way, poor dear Poppy, and Wyntons have always been fwightful Torwies, and I was quite woefully ignowant of anything smacking even faintly of politics, so I had no notion that Poppy was not, and that I had only been permitted to mawwy him because he was such a nob and so wich, and because Mamma was persuaded the safest course was to get me off her hands and mawwied before I did something absolutely shocking and wuined my chances! I had the most fwightful mix of Torwies and Whigs, and committed the cwowning folly of telling poor Mr Pitt that politics were borwing! Under the impwession,” she said with a twinkle, “that he was someone else entirely, the which did not pwecisely make it better! Poor Poppy was fu’wious and afterwards shouted fwightfully: wishing he had never mawwied me, and so forth. Of course, I shouted back, I would not stand for that, and for al-most half a day I wan off to my sister Julia Morphett; but you know what Julia is like, and she was nearly as stiff then, and wead me the sternest lecture! So I decided that even life with my howwible unfeeling husband might be better than life in Julia’s household, and went back to him, but the bwute had been out at his howwid clubs all day and had never even noticed I was gone!”

    Midge had to swallow hard.

    “Laugh if you like, my dear, for it was all entirely widiculous, and of course I was far too young for him, evewyone was quite wight about that! But he had calmed down by that evening and fortunately,” she said thoughtfully, “had the sense not to apologise. –I would have walked wough-shod over any man who had apologised to me for a matter in which he was not at fault,” she explained: Midge nodded numbly. “So I determined to twy to learn. But it was dweadfully hard, for Poppy got quite keen, you see, and w’ote out a fwightful long list of names, Torwies on one side, Whigs on t’other, and I had to learn ’em up!” She laughed. “But if I could learn it all—and at a much younger age, and without the benefit of your knowledge of politics, for I had never opened a newspaper in my life; and entirely without the habit of application, for as my sisters will tell you, I neglected my schoolbooks dweadfully—yes, for I played with my dogs and wode my ponies instead, did I not, Chwistopher?” she cooed, as one of the dogs looked up at her hopefully. “Yes, come along, you gweat white pudding of a cweature! –Where was I? Oh, yes: I was a positive illiterwate, my dear, but I learned, and did better, and my next dinner was the dullest thing imaginable, featu’wing all Whigs, and though I had mixed up the factions slightly, Poppy was vewwy gwacious, and told me I had done better!” She made a frightful moue. “Alas, I did not accept it in the spiwit in which it was meant, and told him to his face he was a fwightful old fuddy-duddy, and we had the most delicious wow, all up and down the stairs, which ended in his manhandling me into my woom and giving me the spanking which he assured me I wichly deserved! But then, I was young and foolish!” she ended, laughing very much and hugging Christopher upon her knee.

    “I see,” said Midge, very faintly.

    “I do not imagine that your welationship will be like that, my dear, for Jarvis is very unlike Poppy, and you are not at all like me. But if he does spank you, I beg you, make the most of it!”

    “I am sure he will not,” said the crimson-cheeked Miss Burden, very, very faintly.

    Corinna saw she was envisaging it and laughed a little and patted her knee, what Dumpkin had left of it, and said: “Well? Are you willing to learn?”

    “I—well, yes,” she admitted hoarsely.

    “Splendid! We shall have lessons at your little cottage, or you may dwive over to the Deanerwy, and a little later I may spiwit you off!” she said gaily. “But we must absolutely do something about your clothes, my dear: has no-one ever told you that Cousin Jarvis likes his women to dwess well?”

    “Several persons, I think, though only Mrs Weaver-Grange phrased it like that,” said Midge, reddening.

    “Well, she is a cat and a man-hater, but she you may wely absolutely on anything she says in matters of dwess.”

    “Mm,” she said, swallowing.

    “I think possibly Jarvis may pen you a note,” said Corinna artlessly, “but even if he does not, you may take my word for it that he is vewwy, vewwy unhappy and would mawwy you tomowwow if only you would say the word.”

    Miss Burden swallowed and was incapable of speech.

    “So, the sooner we start, the better!” said Corinna gaily. “And this time you will twy vewwy hard and, though you have my permission to laugh underneath, for I would not wish positively to pervert your nature, I must beg you to apply yourself se’wiously.”

    “Yes,” said Midge hoarsely. “I— You are very good. If—if he truly wuh-wishes… “

    “Yes, of course he does, my dear,” she said serenely, sounding for all the world—though Miss Burden’s mind was not calm enough to register this—like her Aunt Caroline.

    “I have to admit it,” croaked Lady Judith, “you are a positive miracle-worker, Corinna.”

    “One or two of us had wondered if she might do the trick," noted the Dean.

    His wife withered him with a look. “But are you sure Millicent will not change her mind?”

    “It does depend a little on how fatuous or misguided this note of Cousin Jarvis’s may be, but one has overcome worse obstacles," she said lightly.

    Judith nodded limply. “And—and Millicent has put herself in your hands unreservedly?”

    “Well, I think she does not know as yet that it is unweservedly, Judith!” she admitted with a gurgle.

    “What else?” noted the Dean. “She has managed to foist one of those damned fluffy things on her,” he reminded his wife.

    Lady Judith nodded feebly.

    “I shall tell Sleyven to send over some beef for it,” decided Corinna.

    “Hens,” said the Dean dreamily, staring at the ceiling.

    “After she has weceived the note and her weaction has been ascertained, you donkey! –Weally, men have no notion of tactics at all, have they?” she said to Judith. “Poor dear Wellington is unique amongst them, one must conclude.”

    “Now, stop it, Corinna, you are being naughty,” said her sister unsteadily, refraining from looking at her spouse.

    “Oh, this mere male is lost in admiration of her tactics,” admitted the Dean.

    Lady Judith sighed deeply. “So are we all. You have done splendidly, Corinna!”

    “But of course,” returned Lady Frayn composedly. “You should have enlisted my aid long since.”

    Mr Hutton sat on a hard chair with his knees very far apart and looked fixedly at Miss Burden. “My orders is, not to go away until it’s been read.”

    “I see,” said Midge feebly. “Er—but would you not care for some refreshment, Mr Hutton? If you were to go into the kitchen, I’m sure that Hawkins—”

    “Well, no, thanking you all the same, Miss Burden, but the Colonel—beg pardon, his Lordship—he give me strict orders: ‘Hutton,’ ’e said, ‘see that the chota mem,’—begging pardon, Miss Burden—‘reads this chitty—malum?’ So I said, ‘Colonel, sir, begging your pardon, an English memsahib don’t want a feller breathing down ’er neck when she reads a note from the burra sahib. Supposing I was just to give it to ’er to read in the moorghee-khana, like?’”

    He seemed to have ground to a halt, so Miss Burden said feebly: “And what did he say, Mr Hutton?”

    “I won't repeat it. Well, it were all in the baht, any’ow. –’E shouted, Miss,” he revealed glumly.

    Midge but her lip. “Oh.”

    “I’ve never seen the burra sahib so right-down miserable, Miss Burden, and ’e’d ’ave me stripes if he knew I let on, but it’s the kutcha hal!” he said earnestly.

    “Mm.” He was still looking at her fixedly. Limply Midge opened the note.

 My very dear Miss Burden,

    I have a melancholy conviction that whatever I say to the contrary, my Cousin Corinna will have persuaded you that both the writing of this note and its contents are all her own idea. I beg you to believe that it is no such thing.

    My sentiments remain unchanged; please believe that. I find myself at a loss for the appropriate phrase to express them, however. Forgive my folly in ever having dared to wish to mould you into the semblance of some unreal, prunes-and-prisms creature who might perform all the duties of a countess save the only one which truly matters: to love the man who bears the accursed title.

    I think I am making a very bad fist of this. Will you allow me to call? Please let Hutton know a time that might be convenient to yourself.

    Pray disregard any nonsense on Lady Frayn’s part upon the subject of ladifying your delightful self or visits to that draughty mausoleum of Frayn’s. I beg you will neither go away from the county nor attempt to change yourself in any way.

    I await your reply via the bearer. Need I say it? Ignore every syllable that falls from his misguided mouth.

Ever yours,

Jarvis.

     “He wants an answer,” said Midge in a small voice, fumbling for her handkerchief.

    “’E did say I was to wait for one,” allowed Mr Hutton cautiously.

    Midge blew her nose. “Mm. Um— Oh, dear. He says that I am to say a time that would be convenient for him to call. Convenient to me, I mean.”

    Mr Hutton replied promptly: “Tomorrow afternoon would be a good time. Miss Janey was saying as how Mrs Newbiggin’s a-sending ’er carriage for the lot of ’em to go and ’ave tea and look in at the Miss Whites’.”

    “Er—yes. Miss Waldgrave wishes for some ribbons for her wedding dress.”

    “Very natural, I’m sure, Miss,” he said on a complacent note.

    “Yes. Wuh-well…  I suppose tomorrow afternoon would do.”

    “Ideal, Miss Burden!” he said encouragingly.

    Midge’s jaw shook. “Only I—I don't think I have the courage, Mr Hutton! Not alone, I mean.”

    “There, now: I said to that Tonkins, the burra sahib’s making a mistake, acos the chota mem ain’t one of them—uh—them ladies what we were used to in India,” he finished on a lame note. “What I mean, Miss Burden, it weren’t only the married ones and the grass widows up in the hills: take that Miss Kinhill, for example! Mind you, thirty-six if she’s a day. But she sends a note, bold as brass, by Major Griffith’s syce, to say that if the Major cares to call she’ll be on the verandah for tiffin. So the Colonel says: ‘Griffith, you go at your own peril: but that verandah is overlooked by Mrs Fitzgerald’s bungalow, and if you want to make a tamasha of yourself, go right ahead.’ And he says as maybe Captain Kinhill—that’s her brother, Miss—will be there. And the Colonel, ’e laughs real short, and says: ‘Maybe she won’t have your goolies on a platter, neither—’” Mr Hutton broke off abruptly, very red.

    “I am not at all sure what that means,” said Midge limply. “But I really think you had best not translate.”

    “No, Miss Burden! Begging the chota mem’s pardon! I got carried away!” he gasped.

    Midge could see that he was very disturbed by the whole business: poor, loyal Mr Hutton. “That’s quite all right,” she said gently.

    Appearing to cheer up, Mr Hutton replied promptly: “Now, what say I get on over to Kendlewood Place, acos it ain’t but a step to a fellow with a good remount under ’im—no thanks to that Tonkins,” he muttered, sotto voce; “and ask Mrs Langford if she might be free to step over tomorrow?”

    Limply Midge accepted this offer. Possibly—nay undoubtedly—she was a rank coward—but she really could not face him, alone!

    Lettice had been unable to resist the temptation—though she knew she ought—of asking if she might see the Earl’s note. Midge had handed it over obediently: help, did she think she was being appropriately maidenly, or something? Once she had it in her hand Lettice was incapable of not reading it, though she knew she ought to resist—poor Midgey!

    “It is so like him,” she said, smiling.

    “Um—yes, I suppose it is.”

    “Especially what he says about Hutton!” said Lettice with a tiny laugh.

    Midge nodded glumly. “Mm. He’s very upset, and said something he ought not. I am not sure what it meant but it was undoubtedly a rude word, because he was quite overcome when he heard himself utter it.”

    “Wha— Oh: Hutton,” said Mrs Langford limply.

    “Yes. And I think he and Tonkins have had a quarrel,” reported Midge mournfully.

    “I dare say they are both on edge,” said Lettice kindly, trying not to think of Charles’s probable—nay, undoubted—reaction to this exchange. Very possibly she ought to refrain from reporting it to him—but she knew she could not!

    “Midgey, dearest,” she said cautiously, “although Lord Sleyven is not a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, and has certainly not made much more of a fist of this than any of them, bless him, I think it does show him to have a truly feeling heart.”

    “Yes,” said Midge tightly. “But if he will not care for his consequence, I must. Do you not see it would be wholly dishonourable in me not to do so?”

    “Ye-es… My dear, when it is his happiness at stake?”

    “If I can—can do it all properly,” said Midge in a shaking voice, “then—then perhaps it would not be too bad.”

    Lettice did not say any more. She fancied that she saw rather more than perhaps Midge herself knew. It did not seem to her that the stumbling-block was entirely the Earl’s consequence. To put it plainly, Midge had cold feet at the idea of marriage. Well—no wonder! All her adult life in this rural backwater, with nothing more than a Butterworth on offer—and then to be bowled over—and Lettice was now in no doubt it had been that—by this very forceful, very masculine, and very experienced older man? Poor darling Midgey!

    She received Lord Sleyven, very properly, in the front parlour. Very evidently he was forewarned, for he evinced no surprise at all on seeing her at Bluebell Dell.

    “I am sure you will wish to see Midge alone, Lord Sleyven,” she said with a warm smile.

    “Yes.”

    Help! thought Lettice. “Um—you may say it is none of my business—”

    “I should not dream of doing that, Mrs Langford,” he replied calmly.

    “N— Um— Oh, dear,” said Lettice limply. “I—I feel I must say this, Lord Sleyven. Although Midge will, I think, tell you that if you will not care for your consequence then she must, I—I think perhaps it is not entirely that which is—is inducing her to—er…”

    “Hang back?” he suggested levelly.

    “Mm,” agreed poor Lettice, swallowing. “She—well, you must not take this personally!” she said, trying to smile.

    “No?”

    Fervently wishing she had taken Charles’s advice, which had been, to keep well out of it or if she could not manage to do that, at least to sew her mouth shut in damned Jarvis’s presence, for he would make mincemeat of her and serve her up with the Christmas goose without a second thought—words very much to that effect—Lettice said on a desperate note: “The thing is, she is not used to the idea of marriage!”

    There was a short silence. Mrs Langford sought desperately for tactful words in which to elaborate on her thought, and found none.

    “I must own,” he said levelly, “that, short-sighted fool that I am, that precise thought had not occurred to me.”

    “No. Of course not. You’re used to ladies who—” She broke off, gulping.

    “Mm,” he said thoughtfully.

    After a period in which the Earl just stood there frowning over it and Lettice just stood there looking at him inanely, she croaked: “The thing is, a pretty little girl like my Polly will not think twice— Well, there will be some maidenly hesitation and—and nerves, but—”

    “Do not elaborate, my dear Mrs Langford,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

    “No. Of course. You understand," said Lettice limply. Thinking in spite of herself that when he looked at one, so, he was entirely overpowering and it was no wonder that poor Midgey was incapable of dealing with the emotions he aroused in her maidenly bosom.

    “So, what good advice can you offer me?” he said mildly.

    “I—I duh-don't know!” she gasped. “You—um—well, I think you may have to be very gentle and patient with her and—and whatever silly scheme she and Lady Frayn may have in mind, you—you had best agree to it.”

    “Will that give her sufficient time to get over her cold feet, though?” he replied unemotionally.

    “I really have no idea, Lord Sleyven,” said Lettice limply.

    “Hm. I was wondering if perhaps some kind person might represent to her the fact that I am not getting any younger and would quite like to live to see my children round my knee?”

    “Yes,” said Lettice, looking numbly at his knees. He was in riding dress. Which was probably a better option than town dress, for at least it made him appear normal. Or at the least, not wholly intimidating. “What? Oh! Well, I can certainly do that. Er—perhaps if you were to smile at her, sir,” she ended desperately.

    “Eh? Oh. A fellow does not find it easy to smile, ma’am, when he is suffering from cold feet himself,” he said drily.

    “No, of course!” cried Mrs Langford warmly, quite forgetting her own cold feet.

    At that he did smile, and said: “Perhaps I had best get it over with. But just tell me this: is she is one of her contumacious moods?”

    “No,” said Lettice, swallowing. “Oh, dear. I’m afraid she has put you through— She was very quiet and pale, actually. She is in the back parlour: shall I ask her to come in here, or—”

    “No, I’ll go through. Thank you, Mrs Langford,” he said, bowing briefly and going out.

    Lettice sank numbly onto a chair.

    Jarvis went in quietly without knocking. Miss Burden was sitting bolt upright on a hard chair by the fire, her hands locked very tightly in her lap.

    “Please—don’t get up,” he said as she jumped sharply and made to rise. “I think this may be easier for both of us if we sit quietly, mm?” He took the chair opposite hers.

    “Yes,” said Midge feebly. “Good afternoon.”

    Jarvis took a deep breath but before he could utter she said: “Your very kind letter indicated that—that you wish to speak to me, but before you say anything, please let me stress that I feel very strongly that I am not a suitable candidate for the—the position of your wife, sir.”

    He looked thoughtfully at the hands, which were still gripped very tightly together in her lap. “Mm. I understand your concern, Miss Burden, and I thank you for it.”

    Miss Burden swallowed loudly.

    “Nevertheless I cannot agree that you are correct. And my former position on the point was nothing short of imbecilic, as I think I tried to tell you once before. Do you forgive me,” he said, clearing his throat, “for being such a damned idiot as to try to ladify you?”

    “No, because you were perfectly right all along,” said Midge wanly.

    Jarvis did not attempt argument, for the nonce. “Then do you forgive me for the manner in which I did it?”

    There was a considerable silence. Eventually Midge admitted: “That is harder. I suppose I do. Um—well, I dare say tact is not your forte.”

    “No, quite,” he said with sigh, passing his hand over his forehead. “I dare say it is not. Um—as to your suitability, you must realise that there is no-one else I want and that if you do not consent to marry me, I shall never marry.”

    “And let Maunsleigh go to your cousin’s frightful son?” said Midge in horror.

    “That would be the consequence, yes, but believe me, I had no intention of using it as a—a weapon in my argument.”

    “Arthur says that the fellow would neglect the estates horribly, and the tenants and labourers will be even worse off than they were in his grandfather’s day!”

    “Very probably. I am still not using it as an argument. If you were ever to consent to marry me, it would have to be because you want Jarvis Wynton, the man, not because you care about the fate of the Wynton estates or of those who are dependant upon them.”

    “Buh-but—”

    “Let us not consider the buts for a moment, Miss Burden. You do understand,” said Jarvis slowly, “that my sentiments remain unchanged? –Good,” he said as she gave a jerky nod. “But what with—er—a certain amount of play-acting, shall we say, on both sides, you have never made your own sentiments clear to me. If I were plain Jarvis Wynton still, with nothing to offer you but a quiet country retirement in a small house like this one, would you marry me?”

    Midge went very red and could not meet his eye. “Yes,” she admitted in a tiny voice, her own eyes filling with tears.

    “Thank God for that,” said Jarvis in a shaken voice.

    There was another considerable silence in the little back parlour of Bluebell Dell. Both parties stared into the fire.

    “But one cannot separate the two,” she ventured hoarsely. Having heard herself admit to him that she loved him, she did not feel particularly capable of coherent speech—let alone coherent thought. As to her knee-joints—! Indeed, Jane Harbottle McVeigh’s very phrase came back to her vividly: “Miss Burden, I don't mind admitting, I was all of a doo-dah. Well, even if you think you’re expecting that a feller might ask, when it ’appens, it’s different.” Miss Burden felt no impulse to smile at the recollection: none at all.

    After a moment Jarvis said quietly: “No. I see. You are very right, and that is precisely our problem, is it not?” Refraining with a great effort from mentioning cold feet.

    Miss Burden nodded very hard.

    “Mm. Then we had best get it straight exactly what you see as the stumbling-blocks in our path, and that perhaps will allow us to devise a strategy to get over them.”

    “Um—yes,” she said numbly.

    “Now, this suitability business. Your birth is respectable and in any case there is nothing we can do about it, so let us not waste any more breath on it.”

    “Lady Frayn said more or less that,” said Midge numbly.

    “There you are, then. My Wynton relatives have accepted you, you have nothing further to worry about on that score,” he said calmly.

    “Lord Sleyven, that is not entirely so,” said Midge, going very red.

    “It is with respect to the basic question of whether the Wyntons will accept a Burden as the Countess: the answer must be yes. The unsuitability must, then, boil down to a question of conduct.”

    “Well, yes. In the—the wider sense.”

    “Certainly,” agreed Jarvis without a flicker. “Dinner parties, and so forth. The question of bedrooms for house parties.”

    “Ye-es… Mrs Fendlesham once told me that some of the chimneys at Maunsleigh smoke when the wind is in the east,” she said on a dubious note. “Is that the sort of thing?”

    “To a certain extent, yes. One would not care to put an elderly lady, nor yet His Grace of Wellington, into a bedroom with a fire that might smoke,”

    “No. Though I am sure Wellington has undergone worse— No, it’s a question of his consequence, of course,” she said quickly. “But would you consider inviting him to Maunsleigh at all?”

    “Possibly not immediately in the wake of a serious disagreement in the House: no, Miss Burden. But at all—yes, certainly. However, there are more factors to take into consideration than smoking fireplaces.”

    Miss Burden looked dubious.

    “I am very sure Lady Frayn will be able to enlighten you upon the point, and indeed to give you some excellent advice. Er—well, just as an example, one would not place Lady Mount Abbott in a bedroom anywhere near to Lord Mount Abbott’s.”

    “I—I don’t think I know them,” she said in a trembling voice.

    Jarvis saw that she was very much overwrought. He bit his lip. “No, well, at least we spared you that, then! Er—he is a gentleman who is known to be very much in the train of the Dowager Duchess of Purle.”

    “I see,” she said faintly.

    “In the matter of such things as country-house guests and so forth, Lady Frayn, Lady Judith and Aunt Caroline combined will be able to help you with anything you may need to know, and Mrs Fendlesham of course is in invaluable in the more domestic matters.”

    “It isn’t just that. I tend to… burst out,” said Midge in a small voice.

    Jarvis replied with complete composure: “True. Not, however, in company, I think, so it cannot signify. I don’t mind it. In fact, I enjoy it —so long as I am not so much in the wrong that my feelings of guilt exclude any other emotion.”

    “Ye-es…”

    “I think the best plan would be for you to come to Maunsleigh—Aunt Caroline is still with me—and to spend a couple of months practising,” said Jarvis kindly.

    “Practising?” echoed Midge numbly.

    “Mm. You will have the duties of the mistress of the house, saving only the—er—matrimonial ones. But we could—well, breakfast together and so forth? Aunt Caroline, as you know, does not breakfast downstairs. Then—well! Aunt Caroline will help you with it all, of course, my dear. But there will be things like speaking with Mrs Fendlesham, approving the menus, and so forth. And overseeing the household accounts, perhaps?”

    “Did Lady Rose Gratton-Gordon do that?” said Midge numbly.

    “No, and Mrs Fendlesham assures me that it was only the absolute probity of her housekeeper which prevented shameless exploitation of the situation by all those inclined thereto. Though, reading between the lines, it did not prevent shameless extravagance. You will find the linen cupboards are bursting with unnecessary linen which the former Countess allowed to be ordered up instead of ensuring that the items already owned were properly mended and subsequently assigned to the usage of the appropriate persons.”

    “But surely her housekeeper would have seen to that!”

    “Well, the thing was that the former Maunsleigh housekeeper had an even higher opinion of Maunsleigh’s consequence than did its former master,” said Jarvis on an apologetic note.

    After a moment Midge admitted: “I can see that, as a matter of fact.”

    “Mm. When Mrs Fendlesham took over the extravagance ceased. That does not mean that I should wish my wife to delegate her responsibilities in the matter.”

    “No, I should think not!” said Miss Burden strongly. “How very unfair to your housekeeper that would be!”

    “I was sure you would see it like that,” he said, smiling.

    To his considerable relief, Miss Burden blushed and smiled, and said in a flustered voice: “Oh; yes!”

    “Where was I? Oh, yes: household matters, and the disposal of your morning. I must just mention that if you could oversee the menus to the extent of stopping Fermour from producing regiments of damned over-sauced ragoûts, I should be eternally grateful.”

    “Don’t tell me you have let him slip back into his old ways,” said Midge limply.

    “Well, yes: he needs constant supervision, you see. It is always the way when a house is without a mistress,” said Jarvis without a flicker.

    “You do not check his menus every day: is that it?”

    “Exactly.”

    “Well, I could do that. Have you inspected the kitchens?”

    “Er—no. Nor the laundry room, or the butler’s pantry.”

    “I should not dream of inspecting the butler’s pantry unless there was something clearly very wrong in his department. But you see, if you had inspected the kitchens it might have indicated to M. Fermour that you were truly interested.”

    “Miss Burden, you would have made a splendid colonel,” said Jarvis in a feeble voice. “No, no, I mean it!” he said with a tiny laugh as she reddened and glared. “I’ve been so busy with the damned estates— But that is no excuse. One must always inspect every corner of one’s command, and do so regularly. It serves the dual purpose of giving the men heart and of putting the fear of God into ’em!”

    Midge nodded feebly, smiling at him weakly.

    “You see, you have quite a grasp of the responsibilities already!” he said encouragingly.

    “Lord Sleyven, you are not taking this seriously.”

    “Of course I am, my dear! But you must allow me a certain natural excitement at the idea of having you running my house for me,” he said, smiling very much.

    “Y— N— Um—well, what about Mischief?” gasped Midge, terribly flustered.

    Jarvis perceived, with a thudding heart, that the day was his. “You must bring him to Maunsleigh if you wish, my dear. It may not be a bad idea to give him some practice, too: see if he will settle, mm?”

    She nodded mutely.

    Jarvis got up. He knelt beside her chair. “Are we officially engaged?” he said, taking her hand.

    Possibly at this moment a woman of absolute probity might have pointed out that her worthiness to be his countess was yet far from proven. What Millicent Burden actually said, however, in a tiny, tiny voice, was: “If you—you ruh-really wuh-want to, sir.”

    Jarvis flushed up very much, but bearing in mind Mrs Langford’s words of caution in re Midge’s being unused to the idea of marriage, said obediently: “Very well then, we are engaged.” Merely kissing the hand gently.

    After quite some time, Miss Burden managed to utter: “I’m very sorry for—for treating you so meanly.”

    “Ssh. You did no such thing,” he murmured into her palm.

    “I—I think I did. Even though your own conduct was nuh-not wholly admirable.”

    “We are certainly agreed on that point!” he said firmly, looking up with a smile. “But do you think I might be permitted to give you a very small kiss, now?”

    “Um—yes!” gulped Miss Burden.

    Jarvis thereupon knelt up, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her gently but very thoroughly.

    When he drew breath, Miss Burden burst into a storm of sobs on his shoulder.

    “Don’t cry, darling Midgey,” he said mildly, patting her back. “It will take some getting used to, I know. But we’ll battle through it together, mm?”

    After quite some time Miss Burden sat up, sniffed hard, and saying: “Yes,” felt distractedly for a handkerchief.

    “Here,” he said, giving her his.

    He waited until she had blown her nose and tucked his handkerchief up the sleeve of her charming dark green woollen afternoon dress—the shade he preferred her in, and he was now sufficiently himself again to wonder if she had worn it for him. Then he put a hand gently under her rounded chin, smiled into her eyes, and kissed her again. This time she gasped a little, her eyelids fluttering wildly, and, to Jarvis’s complete astonishment, put a hand on his shoulder.

    “Mm,” he said, after a little. “That’s better, my darling, isn’t it?”

    “Yes,” said Miss Burden in a wondering tone, looking up at him dazedly.

    He might have kissed her again, but a most peculiar noise started up behind him. “Er—what on earth?”

    Looking very agitated, Miss Burden withdrew her hand from his shoulder. “Oh, dear! Please excuse me!”

    Jarvis rose slowly to his feet. “That isn’t your cat, surely? Or Whatsisname, the one that had the sore paw?’

    “No, no!” she gasped, bounding up and rushing over to the door. “Hawkins must have— I told her to keep him in the kitchen!” Forthwith she opened the door to let in—

    “Oh, my God: you let Corinna foist one of them on you,” he groaned.

    “It’s Dumpkin,” said Miss Burden in a small voice. “Don’t you care for dogs, sir?”

    “I am very fond of dogs, but this creature scarcely falls within the category. In the first place, her Ladyship assures me that they become even fluffier as adults: ‘prettier’, I think, was also used in that context; and dogs, it is my very firm contention, Miss Burden, were not intended by their Creator to be pretty. And I doubt you will find a man on earth to argue with me on that score. And in the second place, it will grow to an enormous size. Truly enormous: much, much larger than a spaniel. Something the height of a large retriever, but much heavier.”

    “Eugenia Waldgrave has already mentioned his paws,” admitted Midge.

    “Midge, my dear: an immensely fluffy white thing the height of a retriever?”

    “He is a real dog underneath,” said Miss Burden weakly. “He cannot help his looks.”

    “For which he should not be condemned, mm. Just tell me this: is he house-trained?’

    “He will certainly tell one when he wishes to go out,” said Miss Burden on a defiant note, raising her chin slightly.

    Jarvis shut his eyes for a moment. “And if one does not immediately spring to it, ma’am, do I collect that he will then piddle on one’s rug?”

    Miss Burden gulped. “He is still very young. Um—I admit I do not know very much about dogs. Are—are you used to dogs, sir?”

    His Lordship perceived it would be his fate to train the brute. “Yes, I am very used to dogs, and having a dog again was one of the things I was looking forward to on my return to England. If it’s trainable, then I will train it to obey. And not piddle on the rugs.”

    “He’s quite a loving dog,” said Miss Burden weakly as Dumpkin, horridly on cue, then fawned on the Earl.

    “So I see,” he said, fondling its ears. “Dare one ask where the name came from?”

    “Your cousin,” she said, glaring.

    “I need not have asked. Midge, of course you must keep him if you truly want him, and I will gladly train him for you, but please, let us get this straight: did Cousin Corinna force him upon you, or do you actually want him?”

    “Um—both,” admitted Miss Burden, biting her lip. “I would have taken him immediately, but I couldn’t see how I could possibly afford to feed him.”

    “Mm.” Jarvis fondled the brute’s ears again and inspected the huge roll of fluff at his neck. No collar. God. Though as there could not be another dog in the county—barring damned Corinna’s other two, of course—who looked anything like him, there was no risk—make that no hope—of his not being returned to his owner if he went astray. “Maunsleigh will be able to provide him with meat. And a collar,” he added neutrally.

    Miss Burden smiled weakly.

    Jarvis was about to suggest she might let him kiss her again, when the brute went over to the door and scratched at it. “Allow me,” he said on a grim note.

    “Just let him into the garden,” said Miss Burden weakly.

    His Lordship went into the little front hall, opened the door and let Dumpkin out.

    Whereupon Mrs Langford emerged abruptly from the front parlour, saying: “Midgey? Is it all ri— Oh!” she gasped, falling back in confusion.

    “I venture to suggest it is quite all right, Mrs Langford. Miss Burden will come to Maunsleigh and practise the arts of the country-house hostess for a month or so, and then we shall be married. We have not spoken about the ceremony, but for my part,” said Jarvis without a flicker, “I hope that it will be a very quiet one, perhaps in Waldgrave’s little church, if David Golightly’s nose would not put be too much out of joint by it.”

    Mrs Langford looked wildly at Midge, who was now standing in the doorway of the back parlour.

    “I—I suppose I sort of gave in,” she said in a small voice.

    “Midgey, my dear, I’m so very glad! Congratulations to you both!” she cried.

    “Thank you, Mrs Langford,” said the Earl gravely.

    “I think I should warn you, though, sir, that I—I may make a mull of the practice,” said Midge hoarsely, going very red and quite failing, to Mrs Langford’s utter fascination, to meet her brand-new fiancé’s eye.

    “Midgey, dearest,” she cried encouragingly, “of course you won’t make a mull of it! Just think of Maunsleigh as Bluebell Dell on a much larger scale!”

    “That is precisely what it is not! I shall never manage if— Excuse me!” gulped Midge.

    Mrs Langford watched numbly as her sister-in-law hurried upstairs.

    “All hope is not lost, Mrs Langford,” said a suspiciously meek voice from behind her.

    The overwrought Lettice turned on him. “What on earth do you mean? Never tell me you’re going to let her wriggle out of it again!”

    “I do not think—”

    But the overwrought Lettice burst into loud tears. Resignedly Jarvis led her into the front parlour, forced a glass of something putrid-looking from the sideboard upon her, and calmed her down.

    “I really do not think she will wish to wriggle out of it, Mrs Langford,” he said meekly.

    Lettice smiled feebly. “Well, no. Not if you just—just— Oh, dear. I think you had better give her a ring and—and publish it and set the date.”

    “You do think she’ll try to wriggle out of it,” discovered Jarvis wryly.

    “N— Well, we have already spoken of cold feet, Lord Sleyven.”

    “Yes, well, I did not mention rings or dates to her because I thought she was ready to shy, you see: did not wish to force her into a bolt.”

    Mrs Langford took a deep breath. “I admit I never thought she— Well, of course I could see she truly cares for you. And at least you got her to agree to go to Maunsleigh.”

    “Oh, a little more than that, I think!” he said with a smile.

    Lettice was seized with a dreadful desire to know whether he had kissed her. Because if he had— No, put that another way: if Midge had let him, it would be a very, very promising sign! She refrained heroically, however, and merely said, holding out her hand: “I cannot say how glad I am about the engagement. And I shall pray for your joint happiness, sir.”

    Jarvis gave her a wry glance, but shook the hand, expressed his thanks, and went over to the door. There he paused. “Don't mention the children at the knee just yet, Mrs Langford, will you?”

    Mrs Langford gave him an amazed and indignant look.

    His Lordship laughed, bowed, and went on his way.

    Lettice managed to sit quite still in the front parlour for a whole two minutes. Then she gave in entirely, hurried up the stairs, burst into her sister-in-law’s room with the most perfunctory of knocks, and gasped: “Did he kiss you? Is it really all right?”

    Midge was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking, Lettice was not too stunned herself to register, very stunned. But she replied with a creditable assumption of her old manner: “Are those the tones, or that the enquiry, of a matron of real refinement and breeding? Would not a quietly restrained enquiry as to the eligibility of my sentiments be more correct?”

    “Stop it this instant!” gasped Lettice, swooping upon her and kissing her cheek. “Did he?” she said, sitting down beside her very close and taking her hand.

    “Well, yes,” said Midge hoarsely. “But he—he had done it before, you know.”

    “Yes, but this time, Midgey dearest, did you permit it?” said Lettice, all smiles.

    “Well, yes.”

    At this the matron of refinement and breeding so far forgot herself as to cry: “Huzza! Oh, Midgey, he will be the making of you!”

    “I certainly feel very odd,” admitted Midge after a moment.

    “Of course you do!” she cried sympathetically, squeezing her hand very tight.

    “Do all women?” ventured Midge uncertainly. “Um—well, I know Harbottle did.”

    Mrs Langford had to swallow, but affirmed, nodding: “Indeed, yes!”

    After a moment Midge admitted: “I suppose I must be one, then.”

    Lettice nodded again, this time her eyes suspiciously shiny, and sniffed a little.

    After quite some time Midge added: “Now I only have to learn to be a lady.”

    “Dearest Midge!” said Lettice with a laugh. “That will pose no problem at all: for the hard part, I can assure you, is all over!”

    Midge smiled and blushed, and looked very conscious. But at the same time, she did not look as if she entirely agreed with her.

    “There!” cried Lady Frayn gaily. “What did I tell you?”

    “Oh, we owe it all to you, ma’am,” agreed Colonel Langford, bowing.

    “Charles, really,” said his wife faintly, very red. Though it was true that her Ladyship seemed to have assumed that Lady Judith had invited the Langfords to dine this evening merely in order to allow her, Lady Frayn, to gloat over her own cleverness.

    Unabashed, Colonel Langford returned: “Someone, in the case that it has not already been mentioned, has foisted a giant fluffy white dog, as yet scarce half-grown, upon Midge, and the deciding factor in her decision that living with Jarvis might not be so unbearable after all was undoubtedly his offer to feed it upon Maunsleigh beef.”

    Mrs Langford swallowed, and found herself incapable of speech.

    “Or so I am informed,” he added, bowing to Lady Frayn again.

    “Charles, she will claim for ever and a day,” warned the Dean, grinning all over his high-coloured, good-looking face, “that the damned dog was part of her plot from the outset.”

    Corinna was opening her mouth to agree, but Lady Judith said: “Just a moment. Colonel Langford, whose suggestion was it— No, I don’t think I dare to ask you,” she ended limply.

    “If you mean, who suggested that the Maunsleigh beef was the deciding factor,” said Lettice, taking a deep breath, “I can assure you that it was not I. And he,” she added with a bitter look at him, “did not think of it for himself, though I admit he is fully capable of it.”

    “It was Jarvis, of course,” said the Colonel mildly.

    Corinna gave an ecstatic shriek, and collapsed in helpless giggles.

    “That’s him all over,” said the Earl’s old friend helpfully to his goggling relatives.

    After a moment the Dean, again on the broad grin, conceded: “I can see it, actually.”

    “I was under the impression that his affections were most deeply involved! How can he make a joke of it?” cried Lady Judith.

    “He is, it would appear, like that,” said Lettice feebly.

    After a moment Lady Judith said limply: “Does Miss Burden realise it?”

    Lettice could only shake her head dubiously. She was not at all sure that she did. Or that she realised that living with a husband was something that took considerable adjustment. Though she would not have admitted it to him, perhaps Charles had put it most accurately, when he had said: “Well, I’m truly glad. But mark my words, Lettice, with their two stubborn natures, we’ll see some fur fly after the knot is tied!”

Next chapter:

https://thepatchworkparasol.blogspot.com/2022/11/over-teacups.html