iss Winsham being only too glad to depute the duty of chaperoning her nieces to Lady Buxted, the Misses Merriville set out alone on the evening of the Alverstoke ball, Miss Winsham, at the last moment, flinging up a window to demand whether they had provided themselves with pocket-handkerchiefs, Buddle adjuring them to take care not to allow their skirts to brush against the step of the carriage, and Owen handing them tenderly into this vehicle. Each of the sisters looked forward to the party in the expectation of spending a delightful evening; neither betrayed (or, indeed, felt) any of the nervousness common amongst young ladies making their first appearances in society. Charis, untroubled by ambition, and unmoved by the extravagant compliments she received, was confident that the party would be enjoyable, because she always did enjoy parties: people were so kind! No fears assailed her that her hand might not be solicited for every dance, for such a thing had never happened to her. If she had thought about the matter at all, she would have said that it arose from the circumstance of having so many acquaintances in Herefordshire; and if it had been suggested to her that in London, where she was unknown she might be obliged to sit amongst the chaperons for a considerable part of the evening, she would have accepted the warning perfectly placidly, and without the smallest feeling of pique.

Frederica was not without ambition, but it was centred on her sister. Once satisfied that Charis was in high bloom, and that the gown Charis had made for herself would challenge comparison with Franchot’s most expensive creation, she knew no qualms: Charis’s beauty, and her unaffected manners, would ensure her success. As for herself, being (in her own view) so far past her prime as to have become almost an ape-leader, her only concern was to provide Charis with an impeccable background. She could see no difficulty about that. She had been the mistress of her father’s household for too long to suffer agonies of shyness; the orange-blossom dress made for her by Miss Chibbet, and given a touch of a la modality by Charis’s clever fingers, was just the thing for a lady who, without being precisely stricken in years, knew herself to be beyond the marriageable age; the diamond necklace, bestowed by the late Mr Merriville on his wife, gave her dignity; and the little Alexandrian cap with which, deaf to Charis’s protests, she had completed her elegant toilette, clearly demonstrated that she was to be ranked amongst the dowagers.

Frederica might not be wholly conversant with the usages of ton parties, but she knew that in inviting her and Charis to dine at Alverstoke House before the ball, the Marquis was conferring a signal honour on them. The few lines he had scrawled on the back of the gilt-edged card, directed in his secretary’s neat handwriting, left her in no doubt of his motive, which was to present them to his eldest sister, and several persons who might, he believed, prove useful. He underlined that word, certainly with malicious intent; and ended with a request (but it read more like a command) that they would come to his house a little before the stated hour. The brief message was rather too autocratic for Frederica’s taste, but she decided to overlook this, since his lordship was clearly bent on paving the social way for her. She was not to know that he had, in fact, exerted himself most unusually on behalf of his adopted wards, arranging for their benefit a dinner-party composed, with a few exceptions, of persons whom he either avoided, or never noticed at all. Into the first category fell his eldest sister and her husband, his sister Louisa, his loving cousin Lucretia, and Lady Sefton, whose amiability did not, in his eyes, excuse the affectations which never failed to irritate him. The second category was comprised of his two nephews; his two nieces; the eligible and very dull Mr Redmure, who was betrothed to his eldest niece; his heir; his heir’s sister Chloë, and the Honourable Alfred Parracombe, who had the doubtful felicity to be the husband of the handsome brunette whose name had quite recently been linked with his lordship’s. It had been linked with several other gentlemen’s names too, and the sight of it, on the scribbled list which included the names of the Ladies Jevington and Buxted, made Charles Trevor feel a trifle giddy. He knew better than to question it, however, Mrs Parracombe being one of those who were invited to provide leaven to what his lordship caustically described as “all this dough”. Further leaven was to be supplied by Lord and Lady Jersey, and by his lordship’s lifelong friend, Mr Darcy Moreton. Mr Trevor, recovering from his astonishment at the names that met his eyes, conned them again, and detected a fault. “The numbers are uneven, sir,” he pointed out. “There are ten ladies, and only nine gentlemen, including yourself.”

“And ten gentlemen including yourself!” said his lordship. “I’ve no doubt you’d prefer to be excused, and I don’t blame you, but if you think I am going to preside over this atrocious party without support you have a very odd notion of my character!”

Charles laughed, but he coloured as well, and said, with a little stammer: “I—I shall be very happy! Thank you, sir! Am I—do you wish me to attend the ball too?”

“Most certainly I do! Bend your mind while I’m away to the task of arranging the table: that should keep you as fully occupied as even you could wish!”

“I must own,” agreed Charles, glancing down the list, “that it won’t be easy to achieve an entirely successful arrangement. I mean—”

“I know exactly what you mean, my dear boy, and have long since arrived at the conclusion that it’s impossible. Do your best! Place my sister Jevington opposite to me: it will infuriate Lady Buxted, but that can’t be helped. It would be most improper to set her above Lady Jevington—and I do feel we should consider the proprieties, don’t you?”

Mr Trevor, with the name of Mrs Parracombe in mind, replied woodenly: “Yes, sir.”

The Marquis, mockery in his eyes, said approvingly: “Exactly, Charles! Having placed the matter in your competent hands, I may now leave for Cheveley with a quiet mind. No, perhaps I had better write to beg Lady Jevington to act as hostess at the dinner-party: that may mitigate her annoyance when she discovers that Lady Buxted and Mrs Dauntry are to share the honours of receiving the ball-guests. How very exhausting all these arrangements are! If anyone should come to enquire after me while I’m at Cheveley, tell him that I’ve gone into the country on a repairing lease. And for the rest—do as seems best to you! All I ask is that you should curb your zeal for economy, and refrain from transforming the ballroom into a tent.”

“With yards of pink silk! I should rather think not, sir! If you don’t dislike it, I should like to deck the room with flowers.”

“By all means!” said his lordship cordially. “I perceive—not that I ever doubted it!—that you will leave me nothing to do, which, as you well know, is always my goal.”

Owing to Mr Trevor’s energy, his pronounced talent for organization, and the tact that won for him the willing co-operation of such jealous persons as his lordship’s butler and steward, this hopeful prophesy was fulfilled. The Marquis had only one fault to find with his arrangements. When Mr Trevor laid before him a careful plan of the dinner-table, he transposed two names, as a result of which Mr Trevor found himself placed beside the younger Miss Merriville. This was an agreeable alteration, but he thought it his duty to suggest that it was just conceivable that Mr Endymion Dauntry might not wish to sit beside his cousin. Jane.

“Very likely not—in fact, almost certainly not,” said the Marquis. “What gave you the notion that Endymion’s wishes interest me?”

That was the sort of remark, reflected Mr Trevor, which made his lordship so incalculable. He could repel and attract at one and the same time. Nothing could be more alienating than the cold indifference he showed towards the members of his family; nothing more endearing than the consideration he gave to the probable wishes of his secretary. He could, with a shocking want of delicacy, include amongst his guests a lady who would certainly set his sisters in a bustle of virtuous indignation; but when he commanded his secretary’s attendance, as though it were a part of his duties, Mr Trevor knew very well that all that was expected of him was that he should enjoy himself, and act, in the manner of an aide-de-camp, as a secondary host.

He had never doubted that he would enjoy the ball, for this was a treat which seldom came in his way; and, thanks to the Marquis’s intervention, he was now able to look forward to the dinner with pleasurable anticipation.

The first guests to arrive were the Jevingtons, bringing the eligible Mr Redmure in their train. Lady Jevington made her appearance regally attired, wearing a magnificent and very ugly diamond tiara, and in a mood of overpowering graciousness. This found instant expression when Alverstoke said: “I fancy I need not introduce Charles to you, Augusta?” She replied at once, holding out her hand to Mr Trevor, and bestowing upon him a smile of rare condescension: “Indeed, no! Well, Charles, how do you do? And how is your worthy father? And your dear mama? Such an age since I have seen them! you must tell me all about them!”

He was spared this necessity by the arrival, first of the Buxted party, and next, following hard upon their heels, of Mrs Dauntry and Chloë, Mrs Dauntry looking remarkably handsome in one of the cringing gowns which she habitually wore, and which so well became her slender figure. This one, which Lady Buxted mentally priced at fifty guineas, and Lady Jevington at rather more, was of lilac spider-gauze over an under-dress of rose satin. She too wore a diamond tiara, by no means so imposing as the heirloom which crowned Lady Jevington, but far more delicately made. Over it she had cast one of her lace veils; lilac kid gloves (French, and not a penny less than five guineas, thought Lady Buxted indignantly) covered her arms; she carried a painted fan in one hand; and a frivolous little reticule hung from her wrist. The other hand she extended to Alverstoke, murmuring: “Dear Vernon!” As he gratified her, and infuriated his sisters, by raising it to his lips, she turned her huge sunken eyes towards those fulminating ladies, and acknowledged them by a faint, sweet smile which held affection but not so much as a hint that she regarded either as her hostess. “Dear Vernon!” she repeated. “Am I late? How naughty of me! But I know you will forgive me! And here is quite your most constant admirer!—Chloë, my darling!”

Miss Dauntry, who had attained her seventeenth birthday three days earlier, dropped a schoolgirl’s curtsy, as much surprise as alarm in her heart-shaped face. Her mama having omitted to inform her that she considered her formidable cousin in the light of a fairy godfather, she was thrown off her precarious balance, and looked anxiously at Mrs Dauntry for guidance. The Marquis, observing her dismay, said affably: “And for how long have I been—how did you phrase it, Lucretia? Ah, yes!—first oars with you, Chloë? Or haven’t I been?”

“Oh, no!” she answered ingenuously. She then blushed hotly, and stammered: “I don’t mean—that is,—Well, I don’t know you very well, c-cousin!”

He smiled. “Good girl! It clearly behooves me to cultivate your acquaintance, doesn’t it?” He then took pity on her embarrassment, and handed her over to Charles Trevor, in whose unalarming company she soon recovered her complexion. The Marquis, critically surveying her, said, in his abrupt way: “A pretty child, and may well improve. A pity she takes after her father, rather than after you, Lucretia. She’ll never be a beauty, but she’s a taking little thing. My compliments on her dress: your choice, I fancy!”

Mrs Dauntry was pleased by this tribute, which was indeed well-deserved. She had expended much time and thought, as well as a great deal of money, on the deceptively simple dress Chloë was wearing; and with unerring good taste, she had chosen for her a primrose muslin, which was far more becoming to her than the conventional white, or the pale blues and pinks generally considered suitable for girls. She had big brown eyes and brown hair, and a warm, creamy skin, which white or blue turned to sallow. Her figure was still immature, and she lacked height, but she would pass anywhere for a pretty girl, decided Alverstoke. Which was more than could be said for Miss Buxted, cutting a deplorable figure in an over-trimmed dress, and with a wreath of pink roses on her head. Wiser counsels had not prevailed with Jane: she had been determined on roses and pink gauze; and she had inherited her mother’s shrewish disposition, and was capable of sulking for days together, Lady Buxted had allowed her to have them. The Marquis eyed her with distaste, disliking her artificial titter as much as her appearance. A plain girl, and would soon become bracket-faced: Louisa would never be able to turn her off.

Louisa and Augusta had their heads together. Augusta was making enquiries about the Merrivilles, and blandly expressing her surprise at learning that Louisa had undertaken to chaperon them. “My dear Augusta, I felt it to be my duty,” said Lady Buxted. “There was Vernon, quite at a stand, as you may suppose! So like Fred Merriville to have cast the whole family on his hands! If I had not come to the rescue, I don’t know what would have become of the girls, because their aunt is quite eccentric—very blue, you know!—and detests going into society.”

“Indeed!” said Lady Jevington, receiving this explanation with obvious scepticism. “How grateful Alverstoke must be! And what are they like? No doubt very beautiful!”

“Oh, dear me, no! I have met only the elder: quite a good-looking girl, but I shouldn’t describe her as a beauty. I believe the younger sister is the prettier of the two. Vernon, did you not tell me that Miss Charis Merriville is pretty?”

“Very likely,” he responded. “I think her so, at all events. You must tell me how she strikes you, dear Louisa!”

At that moment, Wicken announced Miss Merriville, and Miss Charis Merriville, and there was no need for Lady Buxted to tell her brother how Charis struck her, for the answer was plainly written in her face. Frederica entered the room a little in advance of her sister, and paused for a moment, glancing swiftly round. The impression she created was one of elegance. Not even the Alexandrian cap could make her look in the least like a dowager; but the fashion of her orange-blossom crape, with its bodice cut in the Austrian style, the shawl of Albany gauze, caught up over her elbows, the sparkle of diamonds round her throat, and, above all, her quiet assurance, clearly showed that she neither was, nor considered herself to be, a girl in her first bloom. She had more the appearance of a young matron, with several years’ experience behind her.

Only for a few seconds did she come under the scrutiny of her host’s relations; and it was not she who brought to an abrupt end the various conversations in progress. It was Charis, entering the room in her wake, who stunned the assembled company into silence, caused even the stolid Lord Buxted to cut a sentence off in mid-air, and made Lord Jevington wonder (as he afterwards disclosed to his austere Viscountess) if he really was attending a party at Alverstoke House, or asleep and dreaming.

Lady Jevington, a just woman, did not blame him: Miss Charis Merriville was unquestionably the embodiment of a dream. A slender snow-maiden, dressed all in white, a wreath of lilies of the valley in her shining hair, and no touch of colour about her except that which was supplied by the gold of her curls, the deep blue of her eyes, and the delicate rose of her cheeks and lips. No man could be blamed for thinking that he beheld a celestial vision. Exquisitely gowned, too! thought her ladyship, bestowing her silent approval on the slim three-quarter dress of sarsnet, fastened with pearl rosettes (procured, had she but known it, at a fascinating shop in the Pantheon Bazaar), and worn over an underdress of shimmering ivory satin. Charis’s only ornament was the single row of pearls inherited from her mother: precisely the thing, further approved Lady Jevington, for a girl to wear in her first season. No more than she blamed her lord for an enthusiasm quite unbecoming to his years did she blame her volatile son, the Hon. Gregory Sandridge, for his dropped jaw, and riveted gaze. The girl was lovely, judged by any standards. Lady Jevington, her Anna eligibly betrothed, was able to feel quite sorry for poor Louisa, so obviously taken-in by Alverstoke, and so foolishly betraying her fury in her glaring eyes and reddened checks. Easy to see, of course, why Alverstoke had accepted the charge laid upon him! Far too young for him, and in every way unsuitable, but no need to worry about that: he would become bored by her within a month. Not very much need to worry about Gregory either: he would fall in and out of love for some years yet before he formed a lasting attachment; and if Charis’s charms proved stronger than his passion for sport his mama had no doubt of her ability to detach him from the girl. But how very well served poor Louisa would be, if her staid Carlton succumbed to Fred Merriville’s daughter! When she thought of Louisa’s grasping, nip-cheese ways, her spiteful temper, and the unjustifiable demands she made upon Alverstoke, Lady Jevington could not even find it in her to blame her disgraceful brother for having bamboozled her so wickedly.

As Alverstoke moved forward to greet his wards, Chloë, her rapt gaze fixed on Charis, breathed: “Oh...! How beautiful she is! like a fairy princess!”

Mr Trevor glanced down at her, and nodded, smiling.

“Well, my children?” said the Marquis paternally. Frederica’s eyes twinkled, but she replied calmly: “How do you do, cousin?” and passed on immediately to Lady Buxted. “How do you do, ma’am? May I make my sister known to you? Charis, Lady Buxted—our kind protectress!”

Lady Buxted pulled herself together, forcing a smile to her lips, and giving her hand to Charis, dropping a slight, graceful curtsy before her. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, for not accompanying my sister when she visited you,” Charis said, in her soft voice. “I was so sorry!”

“To be sure, you were laid up with a cold, or some such thing, were you not? Well, now I must introduce you to my sister, Lady Jevington,” responded Lady Buxted, rigidly cordial, and well-aware that Augusta had guessed how abominably she had been hoaxed, and was rejoicing in her discomfiture. The graciousness with which Augusta met the Misses Merriville confirmed her in this belief; and she was left to derive what consolation she might from the reflection that That Woman must be as deeply chagrined by the arrival on the scene of a transcendent beauty as she was herself.

But Mrs Dauntry, who had never been known to betray such unworthy emotions as anger or resentment, received the sisters with even more graciousness than had Lady Jevington, summoning Chloë to be introduced to her new cousins, and subsequently drawing Alverstoke’s attention to the charming picture Charis and Chloë made, as they sat talking together on a small sofa at the end of the room. Well within hearing of the Ladies Jevington and Buxted, she described them as the prettiest girls in the room, which, as Frederica stood outside this category, gently paid off several old scores, the only other girls present being Miss Dandridge, and Miss Buxted. “Not,” she added, with her wistful smile, “that I mean to compare them, for even to my partial eyes my little Chloë is a farthing to the sum of your lovely Charis. My dear Alverstoke, she will have half London at her feet!” She laughed, and looked archly up at him. “What enemies you will win to yourself amongst some of our matchmaking mamas! If my Chloë were not far too young to be thinking of marriage, I am sure I should be one myself!”

Deeply appreciative, the Marquis had just time to respond: “Admirable, dear Lucretia!” before his attention was claimed by the arrival of the Seftons.

The last of the guests to arrive was Endymion, who came in, looking like a handsome, overgrown schoolboy detected in crime, and stammering an apology for his tardiness. He begged his cousin’s pardon, and—with a deprecating glance round the room—everyone’s! He had been on guard-duty—Cousin Vernon would understand—But at this point he broke off, suddenly seeing Charis, and stood staring at her in undisguised admiration until somewhat acidly recalled from this trance by Lady Jevington, who said that she believed he was already known to my Ladies Jersey and Sefton. This made him start, flush up to the roots of his hair, and utter some incoherent apologies, as he bowed to their ladyships. Fortunately, both were amused rather than offended, for although Lady Sefton was too good-natured to take umbrage, Lady Jersey was a very high stickler indeed. Endymion was saved from one of her set-downs, partly because he was, in general, extremely punctilious, as well as being just the sort of handsome young man of breeding whom any hostess was happy to invite to her balls and assemblies; and partly because the Fanes and the Dauntrys had (as she phrased it) known one another for ever. One of her closest childhood friends had been Alverstoke’s youngest sister: that Poor Eliza, who had married a mere Mr Kentmere, and almost vanished from the London scene; and although Alverstoke, four years senior to the fascinating Sally Fane, had never been amongst the aspirants to her hand and fortune, she frankly owned that she had a tendre for him, and ranked him amongst her oldest friends. He was some ten years younger than the Earl of Jersey, but well-acquainted with him, both being Harrovians, and rivals on the Turf and the hunting-field; and both residing, when in London, in Berkeley Square: a circumstance which, according to Lady Jersey, not only made them neighbours, but posed an insoluble problem: if invited to a dress-party at Alverstoke House, was it more proper to call out one’s carriage, or to demean oneself by walking some fifty yards to the party?

Lady Jersey was known, in certain circles, as Silence; but anyone who supposed that her flow of light, inconsequent chatter betokened an empty head much mistook the matter: she had a good deal of intelligence, and very little escaped her. She had been talking ever since she entered the room, and on an amazing number of subjects, ranging from the spate of nuptials imminent in the Royal Family to the escape of a gruesome murderer from the gallows, through the discovery of an ancient statute which allowed him to claim the right of wager by battle; but while she rattled on she had been taking mental notes, and very intriguing they were. She knew already, through a fellow patroness of Almack’s, the haughty Mrs Burrell, who had learnt it from the lips of Lady Buxted, that Alverstoke had assumed the guardianship of some young cousins, and was doing his languid best to introduce to the ton the two females of the family, by inviting them to the ball given in honour of his niece; and that had been quite enough to titillate her curiosity. Far better acquainted with Alverstoke than Mrs Burrell, Lady Jersey did not for a moment believe that he had ever entertained the smallest notion of giving a ball in honour of Jane, or any other of his nieces. Then he must be doing it for the sake of his unknown wards—and that was very unlike him too. When she saw Charis, the thought that Charis was Alverstoke’s latest flirt entered her ladyship’s head only to be instantly dismissed. The girl was lovely, but not in Alverstoke’s style. Innocent buds, just unfurling their petals, had never been numbered amongst his victims; and this one, besides being his ward, lacked salt. A beautiful ninnyhammer, decided Lady Jersey, whom Alverstoke would write off as a dead bore within five minutes of making her acquaintance. As for Louise’s glib explanation to her old friend, Mrs Drummond Burrell, that Alverstoke thought it his duty to take care of Fred Merriville’s children, no one who knew Alverstoke could believe that. Then why—? All at once a solution of the problem occurred to her ladyship. A glance at Lady Buxted confirmed it: he had invited his beautiful ward to this ball to punish Louisa! No doubt she had been plaguing his life out to give a ball for that plain girl of hers, and this was his revenge, devil that he was! Not but what she deserved it, thought Lady Jersey, for her demands on him were ceaseless, and she didn’t care a rush for him. Lucretia, too: she was wearing a sweet, wistful smile, but she must be quite as furious as Louisa, perhaps more so, for in addition to seeing her daughter cast into the shade she was obliged to watch her cherished Endymion staring at Charis like a mooncalf.

Then there were the Parracombes—or, rather, Mrs Parracombe, for it would be absurd to suppose that her rich but mutton-headed spouse was concerned with anything beyond his dinner and his string of racehorses. What, wondered Lady Jersey, had prompted Alverstoke to invite them to his dinner-party? His name had been pretty closely linked with Caroline’s during the past few months, but lately he had not quite so often been seen in her company: in her ladyship’s judgment, she had been rather too capricious, and very much too possessive. Had Alverstoke bidden her to this party, so obviously given in honour of his wards, with the intention of tacitly informing her that her reign was over? He was perfectly capable of it, wretch that he was! Poor Caroline!—but she should have known better than to have thought she could play fast and loose with Alverstoke! To have attached him was certainly a triumph; but to have supposed that she could hold him captive while she divided her favours between him and her other cicisbeos was a great piece of folly: his affections had never yet been so deeply engaged as to inspire him with the desire to outshine his rivals. If the lady whom he chose to honour with his (fleeting) devotion encouraged the attentions of other admirers, he left her with no more than a shrug of his shoulders; for, little though he might care he would not share either. Lady Jersey suspected that when his flirts (to put it no higher) were to be seen squired by other men it was because he had grown, bored with them, and neglectful.

He had begun to be bored with Mrs Parracombe some months previously. She was handsome, amusing, and clever enough to sail close—but never too close—to the wind. He had recognized in her a high-born lady with the soul of a courtesan, and, as such, he had enjoyed his discreet liaison with her, while his passion for her had lasted. But that had not been for very long. A luscious beauty, she had aroused his desire, but not one spark of love in his cold heart.

She knew it; and since she too was a stranger to love or tenderness she shrugged as carelessly as she could, and was clever enough to let it be seen, before his waning interest had been observed by the ton, that it was she who had wearied of him. Not quite as clever as Lady Jersey, she did not doubt that the beautiful Miss Charis Merriville was Alverstoke’s latest inamorata, but she bore the introduction with smiling equanimity, merely murmuring to him, at a convenient moment: “Take care, dear friend! When men of your age develop tendres for schoolgirls it is held to be a sign of senility!”

“I’ll take care!” he promised, answering smile with smile.

Charles Trevor had warned the Marquis that Endymion might not relish having his cousin Jane as his dinner-partner, but he soon realized that not Endymion but Jane was the principal sufferer. He and Charis were seated immediately opposite the cousins; and Endymion, either bemused, or feeling that he owed no particular civility to Jane, spent the better part of his time gazing raptly across the table at the fair vision before him. It was not the least part of Charis’s charm that she rated her beauty low; and, as she always gave her attention to whatever person happened to be conversing with her, she was generally unconscious of the admiring looks cast at her. If she did become aware that she was being stared at she was not at all gratified, but mentally condemned the admirer as a horridly rude person, and wondered if she had a spot forming, or had smudged her face. Neither of these fears crossed her mind when she looked up to find Endymion’s brown eyes worshipfully upon her. She blushed, and immediately looked away, but although she wished he would not stare at her it did not occur to her that he was being horridly rude. He was the most splendid young man she had ever seen: the personification of all the heroes who (according to Aunt Seraphina) had no existence beyond the bounds of balladry, or the marbled covers of a romantic novel. If she had not known that he was watching her she would have stolen several glances at him; but she did know it, and, being a well-brought-up girl, she took care not to look at him again. Farther up the table, Frederica, with every appearance of interest, was encouraging Lord Buxted to instruct her in the details of estate management. Lady Jersey, on the other side of the table, observed both sisters from under her lashes, and said suddenly: “Very well indeed, Alverstoke! I like them. Easy, unaffected manners, both of them; and the Beauty has a modesty which is particularly engaging. Did you invite me here to coax me to bestow vouchers for Almack’s on them?” This challenge, delivered with one of her ladyship’s rapier-looks, in no way disconcerted him. Satisfied that Lady Sefton, on his left hand, was engaged in conversation with Mr Moreton, he replied coolly: “No. Only to save me from insufferable boredom, Sally! I rely upon Louisa to procure vouchers for them.”

“She won’t do it,” said Lady Jersey decidedly. “She will tell you that Mrs Burrell refused to oblige her; and even you, unfeeling monster that you are, could scarcely expect her to apply to Emily Cowper at this moment! The Lambs are all shattered by Lady Melbourne’s death, and none of them more so than Emily.” She cast another look down the table, and gave a stifled giggle. “Oh, goodness me, look at Louisa! I’ll do it! Yes, I will do it! If only to bring you to our assemblies; Vernon!”

“It won’t do so, my loved one: I never lay myself open to snubs! Or are your snubs reserved for Dukes?”

A ripple of appreciative laughter broke from her.

“Wellington? But he tried to violate our rules, which, you, I am persuaded, would never do!”

“Much you know about it! Ask my loving sisters!” “No need! I know the answer. How they did snub me—Augusta and Louisa, not my dearest Eliza, be sure!—when they were young ladies, and I a scrubby schoolgirl! Will it vex them to death if I sponsor your wards? Oh, goodness me, of course it must! Maria!” Lady Sefton, her attention thus peremptorily claimed, turned an amiably enquiring gaze upon her friend. “Shall we admit Alverstoke’s wards to Almack’s?” “Oh, yes, I think we should do so, don’t you? Such, pretty-behaved girls—don’t you agree? Poor Fred Merriville’s daughters, too! Oh, I think we should do what we can for them!” agreed. Lady Sefton, turning back to Mr Moreton.

“Well, I will,” said Lady Jersey. “Oh, but how provoking! Oh, goodness me, what a pea-goose I am! I shall never know now whether that was why you invited me, or not!”

“Never mind!” Alverstoke replied consolingly. “Think how much you will enjoy putting my sisters all on end!”

“Very true!” She sent another glance down the table. “The Beauty will become the rage, of course. The elder has more countenance, but—What’s their fortune, Alverstoke?”

“Respectable.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ah, that’s a pity! However, one never knows! With that face the younger at least need not despair of achieving an eligible alliance. We shall see!”