“I’ve received an invitation from your sister,” he told her. “She hopes that I will give you both the pleasure of dining in Sydney Place on Saturday, but I’m not deceived: her hope is that I may break a leg, or be laid low of a severe colic, before I can expose you to the censure of all your acquaintance. Shall I be doing so?”

She laughed. “Good God, no! I hope my credit is good enough to survive a visit to the theatre in your company! Much I should care if it proved otherwise! I’ve a great desire to see this particular play, and have never yet done so. It has always been popular in Bath, you know.” Her eyes danced. “If only you had had the good sense to have been a widower, I daresay Selina wouldn’t have raised the least objection! She saw no harm in my attending the races with General Exford: there is something very respectable about widowers! Single gentlemen, in her view, are surrounded by an aura of impropriety.”

“What, even the turnip-sucker who pays you extravagant compliments?”

“If,” said Abby, a trifle unsteadily, but with severity, “you are speaking of Mr Dunston, Selina knows him to be a very worthy man who has far too much conduct to transgress the bounds of propriety by as much as an inch!”

“He is a slow-top, isn’t he? Poor fellow!”

“He may be a slow-top, but that’s better than being ramshackle!” retorted Abby, with spirit.

“No, do you think so indeed? Was that a cut at me, by the way, or at Stacy?”

“Well, it was at you,” said Abby frankly. “I don’t think Stacy ramshackle: I think him a shuffling rogue! Mr Calverleigh, if you had heard him trying to cut a wheedle, when we rode back from Lansdown, you must have been disgusted!”

“Very likely. The wonder is that Fanny seems to be not at all disgusted.”

“She is very young, and had never, until that wretch came here, known any men but those who reside here: Selina’s and my friends, or the schoolboy brothers of her own friends! You must know that she has only lately begun to go out into society a little; and although, during the winter, a number of London-visitors come to Bath, she has met none of them. I saw to that!”

“Why let yourself be blue-devilled?” he asked. “She’ll recover!”

“I don’t doubt she would do so, if he were removed from her sight!”

“Or even if she were to be removed from his,” he suggested.

She frowned over that for a moment, and then said, with a sigh: “I’ve thought of it, of course, but I believe it wouldn’t answer. Tames talked of removing her to Amberfield, and that would be fatal: she would run away! And if my sister Brede were to invite her to stay with her in London she would know that it was at my instigation, and to separate her from your nephew. What is more, he would follow her, and you may depend upon it that it would be easier for them to meet in London than it is here, where everyone knows her. I think, too, that if it were possible to prevent this she wouldn’t recover—or, at any hand, not for a long time. Towards me she would be bound to feel resentment: oh, she’s resentful already!” She hesitated, before saying, with a faint smile: “I was used to think, you know, that we stood upon such terms as would make it a simple matter for me to guide her—even to check her! That my influence was strong enough to—But I seem to have none at all. I suppose I’ve gone the wrong way to work with her: nothing I could urge would carry the least weight with her! I wish—oh, how much I wish—that her eyes might be opened to what I am persuaded is his true character! That would be the best thing that could happen! It would be painful for her, poor child, but she wouldn’t wear the willow for long: she has too much pride! And above all she wouldn’t fancy herself a martyr! That’s very important, because if one thinks oneself the victim of tyranny there is every inducement to fall into a lethargy.”

“I should imagine that that would make life very uncomfortable for you. But hasn’t it occurred to you that my nephew has a rival?”

“Oliver Grayshott?” She shook her head. “I don’t think it. She says he is like a brother to her! And although I fancy he has a strong tendre for her he has done nothing to attach her.”

“Well, if you think it nothing to send her laudatory verses masquerading as acrostics, and to ransack all the libraries for the works of her favourite poets, you must be as green as she is!” he said caustically.

She could not help laughing. “Does he do so? I thought they were his favourites too: he is certainly very well read in them.”

“Pea-goose! So would you be, if you made it your business to study them!”

“Poor young man! But even if Fanny did prefer him to your nephew it wouldn’t do, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

“Because—as you very well know!—James would consider him to be almost as ineligible as Stacy!”

“I know nothing of the sort. Your brother James whistle a fortune down the wind ? Gammon!”

“But he has no fortune!” she protested. “He is connected with trade, too, which James would very much dislike.”

“Oh, would he? My sweet simpleton, let James get but one whiff of an East India merchant’s heir in Bath, and he won’t lose a moment in setting snares to catch such a prize!”

She disregarded this, exclaiming: “You must be mistaken! Oliver has no such expectations! Indeed, he feels that he has miserably disappointed his uncle.”

“Not he! Balking thinks the world of him, and means to take him into partnership as soon as he’s in good point again.”

“No, does he indeed? I am so glad! But as for thinking of his marrying Fanny, that’s moonshine! I own, I should be thankful if she did fall in love with him—though she is much too young for marriage—but there’s no likelihood of her doing so while she’s besotted of your odious nephew.”

“You know, if you mean to talk of nothing but your totty-headed niece and my odious nephew I shall have a colic,” he informed her.

“Well, of all the detestably uncivil things to say—!” she gasped.

“If it comes to that, what a detestably boring thing to talk about!”

“I bee your pardon!” she said icily. “To me, it is a subject of paramount importance!”

“Yes, but it isn’t so to me.

Since Miss Butterbank came up at that moment, to tell her that dear Miss Wendover was ready to go home, she was prevented from uttering the retort that rose to her lips; but when her graceless tormentor presented himself in Sydney Place on Saturday she received him with a good deal of chilly reserve. As far as she could discover, this had no effect on him whatsoever. He devoted himself largely to Selina, listening good-naturedly to her rambling discourse, until she embarked on a catalogue of the various illnesses suffered by herself and several of her friends when he retaliated by telling her of the terrible diseases rife in India. From there it was a small step to a description of such aspects of Indian life, climate, and scenery as were most calculated to hold spellbound a middle-aged lady of enquiring mind and credulous disposition. Selina mellowed perceptibly under this treatment, and told Abby, when they had withdrawn from the dining-room, leaving their guest to enjoy a glass of port in solitary state, that really Mr Calverleigh was a most interesting man. “I declare I feel as if I had actually been to India myself!” she said. “So vivid, and droll—all those strange customs! Tigers and elephants, too—not that I should care to live with tigers, and although I believe elephants are wonderfully docile I don’t think I could ever feel myself at ease with them. But so very interesting—quite like a fairy story!”

Abby, who thought that some of Mr Calverleigh’s tales were exactly like fairy stories, was able to agree to this with perfect sincerity. She had every intention of maintaining her punctilious civility, and might have done so had he not said, as he took his seat beside her in the carriage he had hired for the evening: “I wish I had ordered a hot brick to be provided.”

“Thank you, but there was not the least need to do so: I don’t feel at all cold.”

“I daresay icebergs don’t feel cold either, but I do!”

She was betrayed into a smothered choke of laughter, whereupon he added: “From having lived so long in a hot climate, you understand.”

“I understand you perfectly, sir, and shall take leave to tell you that there’s neither truth nor shame in you!”

“Well, not much, perhaps!” he owned.

Since this quite overset her gravity, she was obliged to relent towards him, and by the time Beaufort Square was reached their former good relationship had been so well restored that she was able to look forward to an evening of unalloyed enjoyment, which not even the surprised stares of several persons with whom she was acquainted seriously disturbed. Mr Calverleigh proved himself to be an excellent host: not only had he hired one of the handsomely appointed first-tier boxes, but he had also arranged for tea and cakes to be brought to it during one of the intervals. Abby said appreciatively: “How comfortable it is not to be obliged to inch one’s way through the press in the foyer! You are entertaining me in royal style, Mr Calverleigh!”

“What, with cat-lap and cakes? If I entertained you royally I should give you pink champagne!”

“Which I shouldn’t have liked half as well!”

“No, that’s why I didn’t give it to you.”

“I expect,” said Abby, quizzing him, “it is invariably drunk in India—even for breakfast! Another of the strange customs you described to my sister!”

He laughed. “Just so, ma’am!”

“Well, if she recounts your Canterbury tales to young Grayshott you will have come by your deserts! He will refute them, and you will look no-how!”

“No, no, you wrong the boy! He’s not such a clodpole!”

“Incorrigible! It was a great deal too bad of you to make a May-game of poor Selina.”

“Oh, I didn’t! It was made plain to me that she has a very romantical disposition, and delights in the marvellous, so I did my best to gratify her. Turning her up sweet, you know.”

“Trying how many brummish stories you could persuade her to swallow is what you mean! How many did you tell me?”

He shook his head. “None! You should know better than to ask me that. I told you once that I don’t offer you Spanish coin, I’ll tell you now that I don’t offer you Canterbury tales either “ He saw the startled look in her eyes, the almost imperceptible gesture of withdrawal, and added simply: “You wouldn’t believe ‘em.”

This made her laugh again, but for a moment she had indeed been startled, perceiving in his light eyes a glow there could be no mistaking. She had felt suddenly breathless, and embarrassed, for she had hitherto suspected him of pursuing nothing more serious than an idle flirtation. But there had been a note of sincerity in his voice, and his smile was a caress. Then, just as she was thinking: This will never do! he had uttered one of his impishly disconcerting remarks, which left her wondering whether she had allowed her imagination to mislead her.

His subsequent behaviour was irreproachable, and there was so little of the lover in his manner that her embarrassment swiftly died. She reflected that he was really a very agreeable companion, with a mind so much akin to her own that she was never obliged to explain what she meant by some elliptical remark, or to guard her tongue for fear of shocking him. He was attentive to her comfort, too, but in an everyday style: putting her shawl round her shoulders without turning the office into an act of homage; and neither pressing nor retaining her hand when he assisted her to enter the carriage. This treatment made her feel so much at her ease that when he asked her casually if she would join an expedition to Wells, and show him the cathedral there, she had no hesitation in replying: “Yes, willingly: going to Wells, to see the knights on horseback, has always been a high treat to me!”

“What the deuce are they?” he enquired.

“A mechanical device—but I shan’t tell you any more! You shall see for yourself! Who else is to join your expedition?”

“I don’t know. Yes, I do, though! We’ll take Fanny and young Grayshott!”

She smiled, but said: “You should invite Lavinia too.”

“Oliver wouldn’t agree with you. Nor do I. There will be no room in the carriage for a fifth person.”

“She could take my place. Or even Mrs Grayshott. She would enjoy the drive.”

“She would find it too fatiguing. Can’t you think of anyone else to take your place?”