Lord Fleetwood started, and said hurriedly: “No, no, I’ll walk! No need to worry about me, my dear fellow!”

“Come, Charles!” repeated Mr. Beaumaris gently.

Lord Fleetwood, aware of Arabella’s eyes upon him, sighed, and said: “Oh, very well!” and climbed into the curricle, wedging Jemmy between himself and Mr. Beaumaris.

Mr. Beaumaris nodded to his gaping groom, and steadied the chestnuts as they sprang forward. “Coward,” he remarked.

“It ain’t that I’m a coward!” protested his lordship. “But we shall have all the fools in London staring after us! I can’t think what’s come over you, Robert! You’re never going to keep this brat in Mount Street! If it leaks out, and it’s bound to, I suppose you know everyone will think it’s a by-blow of yours?”

“The possibility had crossed my mind,” agreed Mr. Beaumaris. “I am sure I ought not to let it weigh with me: Miss Tallant certainly would not.”

“Well, damn it, I think that prosy fool, Bridlington, was right for once in his life! You’ve gone stark, staring mad!”

“Very true: I have known it this half-hour and more.”

Lord Fleetwood looked at him in some concern. “You know, Robert, if you’re not careful you’ll find yourself walking to the altar before you’re much older!” he said.

“No, she has the poorest opinion of me,” replied Mr. Beaumaris. “I perceive that my next step must be to pursue the individual known to us as ‘ole Grimsby’.”

“What?” gasped Fleetwood. “She never asked that of you!”

“No, but I feel she expects it of me.” He saw that the mention of the sweep’s name had made Jemmy look up at him in quick alarm, and said reassuringly: “No, I am not going to give you to him.”

“Robert, never in all the years I’ve known you have I seen you make such a cake of yourself!” said his friend, with brutal frankness. “First you let the little Tallant bamboozle you into saddling yourself with this horrid brat, and now you talk of meddling with a chimney-sweep! You! Why, it’s unheard of!”

“Yes, and, what is more, I have a shrewd suspicion that a benevolent career is going to prove extremely wearing,” said Mr. Beaumaris thoughtfully.

“I see what it is,” said Fleetwood, after regarding his profile for a few moments. “You’re so piqued she don’t favour you you’ll go to any lengths to fix your interest with the girl.”

“I will,” said Mr. Beaumaris cordially.

“Well, you’d better take care what you are about!” said his worldly-wise friend.

“I will,” said Mr. Beaumaris again.

Lord Fleetwood occupied himself during the rest of the short drive in delivering a severe lecture on the perfidy of those who, without having any serious intentions, attempted to cut out their friends with the season’s most notable catch, adding, for good measure, a lofty condemnation of hardened rakes who tried to deceive innocent country maidens.

Mr. Beaumaris listened to him with the utmost amiability, only interrupting to applaud this last flight of eloquence. “That’s very good, Charles,” he said approvingly. “Where did you pick it up?”

“Devil!” said his lordship, with feeling. “Well, I wash my hands of you—and I hope she will lead you a pretty dance!”

“I have a strong premonition,” replied Mr. Beaumaris, “that your hope is likely to be realized.”

Lord Fleetwood gave it up, and as Mr. Beaumaris saw no reason to take him into his confidence, what little time was left before Mount Street was reached was occupied in discussing the chances of the newest bruiser in his forthcoming fight with an acknowledged champion.

Mr. Beaumaris, at this stage, would have been chary of confiding in anyone the precise nature of his intentions. He was by no means sure that he knew what they were himself, but that he had called in Park Street for precisely the reasons described by his friend, and, when confronted by the vision of Arabella fighting for the future of her unattractive protégé, had undergone an enlightenment so blinding as almost to deprive him of his senses, was certain. No consideration of the conduct to be expected of a delicately nurtured female had stopped her. She knew no discomfiture when two gentlemen of fashion had arrived to find her embroiled in the concerns of an urchin far beneath the notice of any aspirant to social heights. No, by God I thought Mr. Beaumaris exultantly, she showed us what she thought of such frippery fellows as we are! We might have gone to the devil for all she cared. I might have made her a laughingstock only by recounting the story—as I could! Lord, yes, as I could! Did she know it? Would she have cared? Not a farthing, the little Tallant! But I must stop Charles spreading this all over town.

Mr. Beaumaris, hunting now in earnest, was by far too experienced a sportsman to pursue his quarry too closely. He let several days pass before making any attempt to approach Arabella. When next he encountered her it was at a ball given by the Charnwoods. He asked her to stand up with him for one of the country-dances, but when the moment for taking their places in the set came, led her to a sofa, saying: “Shall you object to sitting down with me instead? One can never converse in comfort while dancing, and I must consult you about our urchin.”

“No, indeed!” she said warmly. “I have been so anxious to know how he goes on!” She seated herself, holding her fan in her clasped hands, and raised her eyes to his face in an enquiring look. “Is he well? Is he happy?”

“As far as I have been able to ascertain,” replied Mr. Beaumaris carefully, “he is not only fast recovering the enjoyment of excellent health, but is achieving no common degree of felicity by conduct likely to deprive me of the services of most of my existent staff.”

Arabella considered this. Mr. Beaumaris watched appreciatively the wrinkling of her thoughtful brow. “Is he very naughty?” she asked presently.

“According to thereport of my housekeeper, Miss Tallant—but I daresay she is not to be at all believed!—he is the embodiment of too many vices for me to enumerate.”

She seemed to accept this with unimpaired calm, for she nodded understandingly.

“Pray do not think that I should dream of burdening you with anything so unimportant as the complaints of a mere housekeeper!” begged Mr. Beaumaris. “Nothing but the most urgent of exigencies could have prevailed upon me to open my lips to you upon this subject!” She looked startled, and enquiring: “You see,” he said apologetically, “it is Alphonse!”

“Alphonse?”

“My chef,” explained Mr. Beaumaris. “Of course, if you say so, ma’am, he shall go! But I must own that his departure would cause me grave concern. I do not mean to say that my Me would be shattered, precisely, for no doubt there are other chefs who have his way with a soufflé, and who do not take such violent exception to the raids of small boys upon the larder!”

“But this is quite absurd, Mr. Beaumaris!” said Arabella severely. “You must have been indulging Jemmy beyond what is right! I daresay he is excessively ill-behaved: it is always so, unless their spirits are utterly broken, and we must be thankful that his are not!”

“Very true!” agreed Mr. Beaumaris, entranced by this wisdom. “I will at once present this view of the matter to Alphonse.”

Arabella shook her head. “Oh, no! it would not be of the least avail, I daresay! Foreigners,” she said largely, “have no notion how to manage children! What is to be done?”

“I cannot help feeling,” said Mr. Beaumaris, “that Jemmy would benefit by country air.”

This suggestion found favour. “Nothing could be better for him!” agreed Arabella. “Besides, there is no reason why he should tease you, I am sure! Only how may it be contrived?”

Much relieved at having so easily cleared this fence, Mr. Beaumaris said: “The notion did just cross my mind, ma’am, that if I were to take him into Hampshire, where I have estates, no doubt some respectable household might be found for him,”

“One of your tenants! The very thing!” exclaimed Arabella. “Quite a simple cottage, mind, and a sensible woman to take care of him! Only I am afraid she would have to be paid a small sum to do it”

Mr. Beaumaris, who felt that no sum could be too large for the ridding of his house of one small imp who threatened to disrupt it, bore up nobly under the warning, and said that he had envisaged this possibility, and was prepared to meet it. It then occurred to Arabella that he might reasonably expect so great an heiress as herself to bear the charge of her protégé and she embarked on a tangled explanation of why she could not at present do so. Mr. Beaumaris interrupted her speech when it showed signs of becoming ravelled beyond hope. “No, no, Miss Tallant!” he said. “Do not deny me this opportunity to perform a charitable action, I beg of you!”

So Arabella very kindly refrained from doing so, and bestowed so grateful a smile upon him that he felt himself to have been amply rewarded.

“Are you quite in disgrace with Lady Bridlington?” he asked quizzically.

She laughed, but looked a little guilty. “I was,” she owned. “But since she has seen that the story has not got about, she has forgiven me. She was persuaded that everyone would be laughing at me. As though I would care for such a thing as that, when I had but done my duty!”

“Certainly not!”

“Do you know, I had begun to believe that everyone in town—all the grand people, I mean—were quite heartless, and selfish?” she confided. “I am afraid I was not quite civil to you—indeed, Lady Bridlington assures me that I was shockingly rude!—but then, you see, I had no notion that you were not like all the rest. I beg your pardon!”

Mr. Beaumaris had the grace to acknowledge a twinge of conscience. It led him to say: “Miss Tallant, I did it in the hope of pleasing you.”

Then he wished that he had curbed his tongue, for her confiding air left her, and although she talked easily for a few more minutes he was fully aware that she had withdrawn from him again.

He was able to retrieve his position a few days later, and took care not to jeopardize it again. When he returned from a visit to his estates he called in Park Street to give Arabella comfortable tidings of Jemmy, whom he had foisted on to a retired servant of his. own. She was a little concerned lest the town-bred waif should feel lost and unhappy in the country, but when he informed her that the last news he had of Jemmy, before leaving Hampshire, was that he had let a herd of bullocks out of the field where they were confined, pulled the feathers from the cock’s tail, tried to ride an indignant pig round the yard, and eaten a whole batch of cakes newly baked by his kind hostess, she perceived that Jemmy was made of resilient stuff, and laughed, and said that he would soon settle down, and learn to be a good boy.

Mr. Beaumaris agreed to it, and then played his trump card. He thought Miss Tallant would like to know that he had taken steps to ensure the well-being of Mr. Grimsby’s future apprentices.

Arabella was delighted. “You have brought him to justice!”

“Well, not quite that,” confessed Mr. Beaumaris. He saw the disappointed look in her eye, and added hastily: “You know, I could not feel that to be appearing in a court of law was just what you would like. Then, too, when it is a question of apprentices one is apt to find oneself confronted with all manner of difficulties in the way of removing boys from their masters. It seemed best, therefore, to drop a word in Sir Nathaniel Conan’s ear. He is the Chief Magistrate, and as I have some acquaintance with him the thing was easy. Mr. Grimsby will take care how he disregards a warning from Bow Street, I assure you.”

Arabella was a little sorry to think that Mr. Grimsby was not to be cast into gaol, but being a sensible girl she readily appreciated the force of Mr. Beaumaris’s arguments, and told him that she was very much obliged to him, She sat pondering deeply for some moments, while he watched her, wondering what now was in her head. “It should be the business of people with interest and fortune to enquire into such things!” she said suddenly. “No one seems to care a button in a great city like this! I have seen such dreadful sights since I came to London—such beggary, and misery, and such countless ragged children who seem to have no parents and no homes! Lady Bridlington does not care to have anything of that nature spoken about, but, oh, I would like so much to be able to help such children as poor Jemmy!”.

“Why don’t you?” he asked coolly.

Her eyes flew to his; he knew that he had been too blunt: she would not tell him the truth about herself. Nor did she. After a tiny pause, she said: “Perhaps, one day, I shall.”