“Yes, that they did, ma’am. I liked it excessively, and have been wanting to thank you for lending it to us. It was all so beautiful, and interesting! I had never stayed in the country before.”

“Town-bred, are you?”

“Yes, though my mother was a farmer’s daughter, and came from Shropshire, ma’am.”

“Good yeoman stock, I daresay: you have the look of it yourself. Take my advice, and study to dress plainly! Frills don’t become you. Are those real pearls you have in your ears? Yes, they would be, of course, and a thousand pities your neck’s too short for them. Lynton! Buy a neat little pair of earrings for your wife! She can’t wear these.”

“Well, I know my neck’s too short,” said Jenny, “but I shall wear them, ma’am, because Papa gave them to me, and I won’t hurt his feelings, no matter what!”

“Very proper!” approved her ladyship. “I’ll speak to your father myself.”

Lady Lynton here intervened, and bore Jenny off to her bed-chamber, saving as she led the way through a bewildering series of rooms, galleries, and corridors: “You must excuse my sister-in-law: her blunt manners are beyond the line of being pleasing,”

“Oh, no!” Jenny said. “I mean, I didn’t dislike anything she said, for it was all in kindness, and — and I like blunt people, ma’am!”

“I have often wished that my own sensibility were less acute,” said her ladyship.

Daunted, Jenny relapsed into silence. Passing through a doorway into a broad corridor Lady Lynton informed her that they were now in the modern wing of the Priory.

“It seems to stretch for miles!” said Jenny.

“Yes, it is most inconvenient,” sighed the Dowager. “No doubt you will make a great many alterations. Adam’s room is here, and that door leads into a dressing-room. The next is yours, quite at the end of the passage, which I hope you won’t dislike.”

“Oh, no! How should I? Oh — how pretty it is!”

“I am afraid it is sadly shabby. It should have been done-up before your arrival, but, not knowing your tastes, I thought it best to leave it to you to choose what you like.”

“Thank you — but I shan’t! I like it as it is. I don’t wish to change anything, ma’am!”

“Don’t you, my dear? No doubt it is foolish of me, but I cannot help hoping that you may not. It is so full of memories! Alas, so many years since I too entered it as a bride!”

Dismayed, Jenny stammered: “Is it your room? Oh, I would never — Pray let me have some other!

But the Dowager, smiling at her with gentle resignation, merely completed her discomfiture by saying that this was the room always occupied by the mistress of the house. She said that Jenny must not be in a worry, since she herself cared nothing either for her comfort or her consequence. As she managed to convey the impression that she was now housed in one of the garrets it was not surprising that when Adam presently came into the room he found Jenny looking rather troubled.

She was standing beside a table in one of the windows, dipping her hand into a bowl filled with pot-pourri, and allowing the dried petals to sift through her fingers. She looked up when Adam came in, and smiled, saying: “I couldn’t think what makes the house smell so sweet, but now I see it must be this.”

“Pot-pourri? Yes, my mother makes it. I believe she had the recipe from some Frenchwoman — one of the emigrées. You must ask her for it, if you like it.”

“I wonder if she will tell me? Adam, you shouldn’t have permitted her to make her own room ready for me!”

“I didn’t know she meant to. I’m glad she did, however: it was very proper in her.”

“Well, it makes me ready to sink!” she said. “She told me that it had always belonged to the mistress of Fontley, as though she had been deposed, which I hope you know I’d never do!”

“My dear Jenny, if you are going to take all my mother says to heart — ! My grandfather built this wing, so you are only the third mistress of Fontley to occupy the room!”

She was obliged to laugh at this, but she said: “Well, I’m sure it must be disagreeable for her to see me in it, at all events. Thank goodness I told her I didn’t wish to alter anything in it! She had been dreading that, you know, which I can well understand.”

He looked a little quizzical, but said nothing. Lydia, coming to pay her respects to Jenny a few minutes later, was much less reticent. “What a bouncer!” she exclaimed. “Why, it was only last year that Mama had the curtains made, and she had meant to have had new ones this year, because these faded so badly, as you may see! She only said that to make you feel horrid!”

“Lydia!”

“Well, it’s true, Adam. For my part, I think someone ought to explain Mama to Jenny! The thing is, you see, that she positively delights in being ill-used, Jenny, and making us all feel guilty for no reason at all. Don’t heed her! I never do!”

This frank exposition of her mother-in-law’s character startled Jenny, but by the time she had spent two days at Fontley she had begun to see that there was a good deal of truth in it, and began to feel much more at ease.

She had looked forward with shrinking to her introduction to Fontley, and had concealed under a wooden front her dread of offending unknown shibboleths. She had listened to stores of the formal pomp that reigned in several great houses, had been too shy to ask Adam for information, and had thus entered the house feeling sick with apprehension.

But although she frequently lost her way in it she was almost immediately conscious of its home-quality; and since the Dowager disliked pomp she found no rigid etiquette to make her nervous. Even the ordeal of the first dinner-party was less severe than she had expected, for no ceremonial attached to it, and all the family talked so much and so naturally that she was able to sit listening and watching, which exactly suited her disposition. Lord Nassington was found to be quite unalarming, and his son, although at first glance overpoweringly large and bluff, was a simple creature, who laughed a great deal, and bore with unruffled good-humour all the shafts aimed at him. He sat beside Jenny at the table, and told her that he was the bobbing-block of the family. He seemed to take as much pride, in this as in his mother’s ruthless tongue. “Wonderful woman, Mama!” he said. “Abuses us all like pickpockets! Do you hunt?”

“No, I don’t, and it wouldn’t be any use pretending I know anything about it, because you’d be bound to find out that I don’t,” she replied frankly.

“Now, that’s what I call being a sensible woman!” he exclaimed, and instantly began to recount to her various noteworthy incidents of the chase, which were largely unintelligible to her, and might have continued throughout dinner had not Lady Nassington loudly commanded Lydia to “draw off that imbecile before he bores Jenny to death!”

The week-end passed pleasantly and uneventfully in exploring the house and the gardens, making the acquaintance of the housekeeper, helping Charlotte with the last-moment preparations for her wedding, and in general making herself quietly useful.

“Shall we come back soon?” she asked Adam, when they left Fontley two days after the wedding.

“Why, yes, if you would like it — at the end of the season. Unless you would prefer to go to Brighton?”

“No, that I shouldn’t. That is — do you wish to go to Brighton?”

“Not in the least. I don’t want you to be bored, however.”

“Well, I shan’t be. In fact, I wish we might have remained here.”

“That would mean missing the Drawing-Room, and all the parties we shall be invited to attend. You wouldn’t like that would you?”

“No, of course not!” she said quickly. “Except that I’m stupid at parties, and shall very likely say the wrong things, and — and mortify you!”

“No, you won’t,” he responded. “You’ll soon grow accustomed to parties, make a great many friends, and become a noted hostess! You’ll be a credit to me, not a mortification!”

She said gruffly: “I’ll try to be, at least.”

She thought that perhaps the fashionable life was what he wanted, and ventured to ask if he had been to many parties in the Peninsula.

“No, very few. I shall be making my début as well as you!”

That seemed to settle the matter. She nodded, and said: “Well, I hope we shall be invited to all the best parties. How pleased Papa would be!”

There was no doubt about this at least. Mr Chawleigh’s vicarious ambition had led him to prosecute searching enquiries into matters which had not previously interested him, and consequently he was able to furnish his daughter with a list of the ton’s most influential hostesses. He was delighted to hear that she had been invited to Lady Nassington’s assembly, a knowledgeable informant having assured him that her ladyship was the pink of gentility, and strongly adjured her to make herself agreeable to all the fine folk she would meet at this function. “For his lordship’s doing his part like a regular Trojan, and it’s only right you should do yours, my girl, and not sit mumping in a corner, as if you’d never been in company before!”

He came to see her dressed for the Drawing-Room, and was probably the only person to think she was looking her best. Even Martha Pinhoe could not feel that violet satin over a wide hoop and a crape petticoat sewn all over with amethyst beads became her nurseling; but Mr Chawleigh, surveying this splendour with simple pride, said that Jenny looked prime. A closer scrutiny revealed certain deficiencies, however. He had an exact memory for the jewels he had bestowed upon her, and he wanted to know why she was not wearing the riviere of diamonds and rubies, which had been one of his wedding-presents. “I’m not saying those pearls didn’t cost me a fortune, but who’s to know they’re the real thing, and not mere trumpery, made out of glass and fish-scales? There’s no counterfeiting the fire of a diamond or a ruby. You bring me out her ladyship’s jewel-box, Martha!”

“I must say, I like a bit of sparkle myself,” admitted Miss Pinhoe, opening a large casket for his inspection.

“I do, too,” said Jenny, looking rather wistfully at the casket. “And it does seem a pity, on such an occasion. But Lady Nassington told me not to dress too fine, Papa.”

“Oh, she did, did she? Well, if you was to ask me, love, she was jealous, and afraid your jewels would shine hers down! Not that I’ve the pleasure of her ladyship’s acquaintance, but that’s the way it looks to me.”

He was to be granted this pleasure five minutes later, when one startled glance at the famous Nassington emeralds was enough to inform him that the formidable lady who sailed into the room had no reason to be envious of Jenny’s jewels.

Her entry took everyone by surprise, including the footman, who had attempted to usher her into the drawing-room while he went to inform his mistress of her arrival. It had been arranged that the Lyntons were to have driven to Nassington House, in Berkeley Square, and to have proceeded thence to St James’s, and for a moment of almost equal relief and disappointment Jenny thought that some accident must have occurred, and that there was to be no Drawing-Room after all. But her ladyship’s first words, as much as her attire, dispelled this notion. “I thought as much!” she said. “Good God, girl, do you imagine I am going to take you to Court decked out like a jeweller’s window?” Her high-nosed stare encountered Mr Chawleigh, and she demanded: “Who is this?”

“It’s my father, ma’am. Papa — this is Lady Nassington!” responded Jenny, inwardly quaking at what she feared might prove to be a battle of Titans.

“Oh! How-de-do?” said her ladyship. “Those pearls you gave Jenny are too big. She’s got too short a neck for them.”

“That’s as may be, my lady,” replied Mr Chawleigh, bristling.

“No may be about it. Take off that necklace, Jenny! You can’t wear rubies with that dress, child! And those ear-rings! Let me see what you have in this monstrous great box: good God! Enough to furnish a king’s ransom!”

“Ay, that’s about the worth of them,” said Mr Chawleigh, glowering at her. “Not that I know anything about kings’ ransoms, but I know what I paid for my girl’s trinkets, and a pretty penny it was!”

“More money than sense!” observed her ladyship. “Ah! Here’s something much more the thing!”

“That?” demanded Mr Chawleigh, looking with disgust at the delicate diamond necklace dangling from Lady Nassington’s fingers. “Why, that’s a bit of trumpery I gave Mrs Chawleigh when I was no more than a chicken-nabob!”