“Certainly not!” said Desford, recovering himself. “Pray accept my felicitations, sir! Lady Nettlecombe, your servant!”

He bowed, and finding that she was extending her hand to him took it in his, and (since she clearly expected it) raised it briefly to his lips.

“However did you find us out, my lord?” she asked. “Such pains did we take to keep it secret that we’d gone off on our honeymoon! Not that I’m not very happy to make your acquaintance, for I’m sure we couldn’t have wished for a more amiable bride-guest, neither of us!”

“Don’t talk such fiddle-faddle, Maria!” said Nettlecombe irascibly. “He’s not a bride-guest! He didn’t know we were married when he forced his way in here! All he wants to do is to foist Wilfred’s brat on to me, and I won’t have her!”

“You are mistaken, sir!” said the Viscount icily. “I have not the smallest wish to see Miss Steane in a house where she is not welcome! My purpose in coming to visit you is to inform you that she—your granddaughter, let me remind you!—is entirely destitute! Had I not been with her when she found your house shut up she must have been in a desperate case, for she has no acquaintance in London, no one in the world to turn to but yourself! What might have become of her I leave to your imagination!”

“She had no business to run away from her aunt’s house!” Nettlecombe said angrily. “Most unbecoming! Hoydenish behaviour! Not that I should have expected anything better from a daughter of that rake-shame I refuse to call my son!” He turned towards his bride. “It’s Wilfred’s brat he’s talking about, Maria: you remember how vexed I was when some brass-faced school-keeper wrote to demand that I—I!—should pay for the girl’s schooling? Well, now, if you please—” He broke off, his gaze suddenly riveted to the shawl she was wearing draped across her elbows. “That’s new!” he said, stabbing an accusing finger at it. “Where did it come from?”

“I’ve just purchased it,” she answered boldly. She still smiled, but her smile was at variance with the determined jut of her chin, and the martial gleam in her eyes. “And don’t try to bamboozle me into thinking you didn’t give me leave to buy myself a new shawl, because you did, and this very morning, what’s more!”

“But it’s silk!”he moaned.

“Norwich silk,” she said, smoothing it complacently. “Now, don’t fly into a miff, my lord! You wouldn’t wish for me to be seen about in a cheap shawl, such as anyone could wear, not when I’m your wife!”

There was nothing in his expression to encourage her in this belief; and as he complained mournfully that if she meant to squander his money on finery he would soon be ruined, and added a reproachful rider to the effect that he had expected his marriage to be an economy, Desford very soon found himself the sole, and wholly disregarded, witness to a matrimonial squabble. From the various things that were said, he gathered, without much surprise, that Lord Nettlecombe had married his housekeeper. Why he had done so did not emerge; the reason was to be revealed to him later. But it was plain that in the role of housekeeper my lord’s bride had proved herself to be as big a save-all as he was himself; and that once she had him firmly hooked she had lapsed a little from her former economical habits. And, watching her, as she contended with her lord, always with that firm smile on her lips and that dangerous gleam in her eyes, he thought that it would not be long before my lord would be living under the cat’s foot, as the saying was. For a moment he wondered whether it might be possible to enlist her support, but only for a moment: my Lady Nettlecombe was concerned only with her own support. There was not a trace of womanly compassion in her eyes, and no softness beneath her determined smile.

The quarrel ended as abruptly as it had begun, my lady suddenly recollecting Desford’s presence, and exclaiming: “Oh, whatever must Lord Desford be thinking of us, coming to cuffs like a couple of children over no more than a barley-straw? You must excuse us, my lord! Well, they do say that the first year of marriage is difficult, don’t they, and I’m sure my First and I had many a tiff, but no more than lovers’ quarrels, like this little breeze me and my Second has just had!” She leaned forward to fondle her Second’s unresponsive hand as she spoke, and adjured him, in sugared accents, not to put himself into a fuss over a mere shawl.

“I don’t give a rush for what Desford thinks of me!” declared Nettlecombe, two hectic spots of colour burning in his cheeks. “Cocky young busy-head! Meddling in my affairs!”

“Oh, no!” Desford interposed. “Merely bringing your affairs to your notice, sir!”

Nettlecombe glared at him. “Wilfred’s daughter is no affair of mine! It seems to me she’s your affair, young man! Ay, and it seems to me there’s something very havey-cavey about this! How did you come to be with her when she called at my house? Tell me that! It’s my belief you ran off with her from her aunt’s house, and now you’re trying to be rid of her! Well, you’re blowing at a cold coal! No man has ever contrived to put the change on me!”

Desford turned white with anger, and for an instant such an ugly look blazed in his eyes that Nettlecombe shrank back in his chair, and his spouse rushed forward, and dramatically commanded the Viscount to remember her lord’s age and infirmities. It was unnecessary. The Viscount had already regained control over his temper, and although he was still pale with wrath, he was able to say in a level voice: “I do not forget it, ma’am. His lordship’s infirmities seem to have affected his brain, and God forbid I should call a lunatic to account! If I allowed myself to follow my own inclinations I should leave this house immediately, but I am not here for any purpose of .my own, but solely on behalf of an unfortunate child, who has no one but him to turn to, and so must suffer him to insult me with what patience I can muster!”

Nettlecombe, who had been scared out of his ungovernable fury, muttered something that might have been an apology, and added, in a querulous tone: “Well, it does sound havey-cavey to me—and so it would to anyone!”

“It is not, however. I did not run off with Miss Steane from her aunt’s house. Even if I were such a loose screw as to run off with any girl, you can hardly suppose that I could possibly do so after barely half-an-hour’s conversation with her! I encountered her, the day after my one meeting with her, trudging along the post-road to London, quite unattended, and carrying a heavy portmanteau. I pulled up my horses, of course, and tried to discover what had led her to take such an imprudent—indeed, such an improper step! I shall not weary you with what she was induced to tell me: I will merely say that she was in great distress, and by far too young and inexperienced to have the least idea of what might be the disastrous consequences of her rashness. Her one thought was to reach you, sir—believing in her innocence that you would help her! Since you haven’t hesitated to throw the grossest of insults at my head, I need not scruple to tell you that I didn’t share her belief! I did what I could to persuade her to let me drive her back to her aunt’s house, but I failed. She begged me instead to take her to London. We reached your house in the late afternoon, by which time I had seen enough of her to make me feel that no one, least of all a grandparent, could be hardhearted enough to turn her from his door. And in spite of the intemperate things you have said I still think that had you been at home, and had seen her, you must have taken pity on her. But you were not at home—which was almost as big a facer for me as it was for her! In the circumstances, I thought the best thing I could do was to take her to a very old friend of mine, and leave her in her charge until I could discover your whereabouts, and put her case before you. I trust I have now done so to your satisfaction.”

“There’s only one thing she can do. She must return to her aunt,” said Nettlecombe. “She took the girl away from school, so it’s her responsibility to look after her, not mine!”

“That’s just what I was thinking!” nodded the lady.

“It is a waste of time to think it, ma’am: she won’t go. I daresay she would liefer hire herself out as a cook-maid!”

“Well, and why shouldn’t she?” demanded her ladyship, bristling. “I’m sure it’s a very respectable calling, and there’s plenty of chances for her to rise higher, if she has her wits about her, and gives satisfaction!”

“What have you to say to that, sir?” asked the Viscount. “Could you stomach the knowledge that your granddaughter was earning her bread as a servant?”

Nettlecombe uttered a brutal laugh. “Why not? I married one!”

This declaration not unnaturally took Desford’s breath away. He found himself bereft of words; but on my lady it had quite another effect. She rounded on Nettlecombe, and said in a trembling voice: “I was never a servant of yours, and well you know it! I was your lady-housekeeper, and I’ll thank you to remember it! The idea of you casting nasty aspersions at me! Don’t you dare do so never no more, or you’ll hear some home-speaking from me, my lord, and so I warn you!”

He looked a little ashamed, and more than a little apprehensive, and said hastily: “There, don’t take a pet, Maria! I didn’t mean it! The thing is that Desford has nettled me into such a flame that I hardly know what I’m saying. Not but what—However, let it rest! I’ll give you a new bonnet!”

This offer led to an instant reconciliation, my lady even going so far as to embrace him, exclaiming: “That’s more like my dear old Nettle!”

“Yes, but I’ll go with you to choose it, mind!” said his lordship warily. “And as for Wilfred’s brat, if you think you can palaver me into taking her into my house, Desford, I’ll tell you once and for all I won’t do it!”

“I don’t think it. What I beg leave to suggest to you, sir, is that you should make her an allowance: enough to enable her to maintain herself respectably. Not a fortune, but an independence.”

But this proposal made Nettlecombe’s eyes start alarmingly in their sockets, with as much incredulity as dismay. He said in a choked voice: “Squander my money on that little gypsy? Do you take me for a cabbage-head?”

He received prompt support from his bride, who advised him strongly not to let himself be choused out of his blunt. She added, with great frankness, that for her part she had no notion of raking and scraping to save his blunt for him only to see it thrown away on a hurly-burly girl who had no claim on him. “It’s bad enough for you to be obliged to grease Jonas’s wheels,” she said, “and when I think of the way he’s behaved to me, trying to get you to turn me off, let alone coming the nob over me, it turns me downright queasy to think of him, and that niffy-naffy wife of his, living as high as coach-horses at our expense!”

The Viscount picked up his hat and gloves, and said contemptuously: “Very well, sir. If money means more to you than reputation there is nothing further to be said, and I’ll take my leave of you.”

“It does!” snapped Nettlecombe. “I care nothing for what anyone says of me—never have cared! And the sooner you take yourself off the better pleased I shall be!”

But the Viscount’s words had made the bride look sharply at him, a shade of uneasiness in her face. She said, in a blustering manner: “I’m sure there’s no reason why anyone should blame my lord! No one ever blamed him for disowning the girl’s father, and he was his son!”

The Viscount, who had not missed that swift, faint look of uneasiness, replied, slightly raising his brows: “Well, that is not quite true, ma’am. It was acknowledged that he had been given great provocation, but a number of people considered that he had acted in a—let us say, in a way that was unbecoming in one who was not only a father, but a man of rank.”

“Balderdash!” ejaculated Nettlecombe, flushing. “How do you know what anyone thought? You were in the schoolroom!”

“You must have forgotten, sir, that my father was one of those who did blame you,” said the Viscount gently. “And—er—made no secret of his disapproval!”

As Lord Wroxton’s disapproval had found expression in giving Nettlecombe the cut direct in full view of some dozen members of the ton, it was not surprising that the angry flush on Nettlecombe’s face deepened to a purple hue. He snarled: “Much I cared for Wroxton’s opinion!” but his fingers curled themselves into claws, and he glared at Desford as though he would have liked to fix those claws round his throat.