“Augusta, he described the girl to me last night in such terms as I have never heard him use before!”

“He was hoaxing you,” said Lady Jevington.

Eliza frowned in perplexity. “Do yon mean to say that she is not so excessively lovely? But, if that’s so, why should he — ”

“I do not think I have ever seen a more beautiful girl than Charis Merriville — and rarely one who is more prettily behaved,” pronounced her ladyship judicially. “She made an instant hit when she appeared at Ver-non’s ball, which was not wonderful, and now has more than half the eligible bachelors languishing at her feet. Gregory,” she added, with unruffled composure, “is one of them. But nothing will come of that, and I am happy to know that his first fancy should have alighted on a modest girl of excellent principles. I daresay it will do him a great deal of good.”

Eliza said impatiently: “Yes, but Vernon? If he is not in love with the girl, what in the world prevailed upon him to bestir himself, not only on her behalf, but on her brothers’ as well? It is not at all like him!”

“I do not pretend to be in his confidence, but I am tolerably well-acquainted with him, and I believe he presented the Merriville girls merely to spite Louisa, and Lucretia. That Woman,” said Augusta, with awful restraint, “was not behindhand in badgering him to hold a ball at Alverstoke House, to mark Chloë’s come-out, as well as Jane’s. One may guess the means he used to compel Louisa to chaperon the girls! He is at liberty to indulge his freakish whims as he pleases, but I consider that his conduct was most reprehensible. Indeed, I strongly advised him not to yield to Louisa’s and Lucretia’s importunities.”

Restraining the impulse to remind her that Alverstoke had never been known to listen to sisterly advice, Eliza said: “I dare say he might have invited the Merrivilles to his ball to punish Louisa, but that doesn’t account for the rest of it. One of his so-called wards — Felix: the most delightful urchin! — invaded the house yesterday, and it was perfectly plain that he looks upon Vernon as a certain source of indulgences. He doesn’t stand in the least awe of him either, which tells its own tale. Now, why, pray, should Vernon, who is utterly indifferent to our children, interest himself in the Merrivilles, if not because he wishes to make himself acceptable to their sister?”

“That, no doubt, is the reason. But unless I am much mistaken it is the elder and not the younger sister for whom he has conceived a decided tendre.”

Eliza stared at her. “Good God, how is this? He told me she was passably goodlooking, not in her first youth, full of commonsense, and masterful!”

“Very true,” agreed Lady Jevington. “I believe her to be some four-and-twenty years of age, but from the circumstances of her mother’s early demise, which left her the virtual mistress of the household, one would suppose her to be older. I think her a young woman of character, and I have come to the conclusion that she will suit Alverstoke very well.”

“Augusta!” Eliza gasped. “A woman who is no more than passably goodlooking for Alverstoke? You must be all about in your head! When, pray, has he had a tendre for any but regular out-and-outers?”

“And when, my dear Eliza, have any of these out-and-outers, as you call them, failed to bore him within a few months?” retorted Augusta. “Frederica cannot, I own, hold a candle to Charis, in respect of beauty; but she has a great deal of countenance, and a liveliness of mind which Charis lacks. They are both agreeable, well-bred girls, but Charis is a lovely ninnyhammer, while Frederica, in my judgment, is a woman of superior sense.”

A trifle stunned by this measured pronouncement, Eliza said: “Augusta, am I all about in my head? Do you seriously mean to tell me that you think one of Fred Merriville’s daughters an eligible match for Alverstoke?”

“It is not, perhaps, the match I should have chosen for him,” admitted her ladyship. “Upon reflection, however, I believe it will do very well. Unless you are prepared to face with equanimity the prospect of seeing that Block, Endymion, step into Alverstoke’s shoes, you will agree that it is of the highest importance that Alverstoke should marry, and set up his nursery, before he becomes wholly abandoned to the single state. I think I may say that I have spared no pains to introduce to his notice every eligible female of my acquaintance. I shall not attempt to deny that my exertions were useless — as were Louisa’s! But that was to be expected!” she said, momentarily descending from her Olympian heights. “If I were to tell you, Eliza, of Louisa’s folly —!” She checked herself, resuming her dignity, and said: “But that is of no moment. Suffice it to say that neither her nor my efforts were attended by success.” She paused again, but continued after a moment, with austere resolution, and fixing her sister with a quelling eye. “My natural partiality,” she stated, “has never blinded me to the faults in Alverstoke’s character, but much as I deprecate them, I feel bound to say, in common justice, that they are not to be laid wholly at his own door. Setting aside the indulgence that was granted him from the hour of his birth, he has been so much courted, flattered, and positively hunted, that much as one may deplore the cynicism with which he regards females one cannot wonder at it. I assure you, Eliza, I have frequently blushed for my sex! And that, I fancy, is why he seems bent on fixing his interest with Frederica. You may depend upon it that I have closely observed her. But if you were to ask me whether she is aware of his interest in her, or would welcome an offer from him, I should be obliged to reply that I do not know. All I can say is that I have never seen her throw out the smallest lure to him, or betray by the least sign that she cherishes for him any warmer feeling than a cousinly friendship.”

Digesting this, Eliza said slowly: “I see. You think that intrigues him, and you may well be right. But it seems very odd to me that both Louisa and Sally believe him to be in love with the other sister!”

“He is being extremely cautious,” said Augusta.

“It must be for the first time!”

“Exactly so! I am of the opinion that he does not yet know his own mind. But I consider it significant that he is taking pains — also, I daresay, for the first time! — to do nothing that might make Frederica the subject of malicious on-dits. Even Louisa has failed to perceive that there is a very different expression in his eyes when he talks to Frederica than the quizzing look he gives Charis.”

“Well!” said Eliza. “I had no notion of this, or that matters had become so serious! To be sure, it did occur to me, when we sat cosing together last night, and when Felix set out to cajole him, that he was not as — as inhuman as he was used to be! If that is Frederica’s influence at work — Oh, but Augusta, you can’t have considered! Only think of her encumbrances! He told me himself that Felix and his brother are in her charge; can you conceive of his being willing to undertake any part of that responsibility?”

“By what I hear,” responded Augusta dryly, “he has already begun to do so. I am heartily glad of it: it has given him something to think of besides his own pleasure. I have never made any secret of my conviction that idleness has been his ruin. His wealth has made it possible for him to indulge his every extravagant whim without even troubling himself to count the cost; he has never been obliged to consider anyone but himself; and what is the result? He was bored before he was thirty!”

“So you advocate the guardianship of two schoolboys as a remedy?” Eliza gave a chuckle, as she passed her own sons under mental review. “Well, he certainly wouldn’t be bored!” she said. She began to draw on her gloves. “I hope to make the acquaintance of the Misses Merriville this evening, and am now doubly anxious to do so. It will be hard to convince me, however, that such a female as you have described would make Alverstoke a suitable wife.”

But when she drove away from the Seftons’ house that night, she was much inclined to think that Augusta might be right. She felt strongly drawn to Frederica, liking her frank, natural manners, her air of quiet elegance, and the laughter in her eyes. That must have been what had attracted Alverstoke, she decided — if he was attracted. It was impossible to make up her mind on that question, for while, on the one hand, he plainly stood on terms of friendly intimacy with her, on the other, he did not linger beside her for many minutes, but strolled away to engage Mrs Ilford in a light flirtation. Lady Elizabeth noted, with approval, that Frederica’s eyes neither followed him, nor afterwards searched for him in the crowded room. Augusta was right, she thought: the girl has quality. But to describe her as passable merely was to do her a gross injustice: she was certainly dimmed by her sister’s brilliance, but in any other company she would rank as a very pretty girl. She possessed, moreover, the indefinable gift of charm, which, unlike Charis’s fragile beauty, would remain with her to the end.

She said smilingly: “I must tell you that I have quite lost my heart to your brother Felix! You are aware, I daresay, that I made his acquaintance yesterday. A most engaging child!”

Frederica laughed, but shook her head. “Yes, but he is very naughty, and is quite in my black books — if he would but care for that! I strictly forbade him to plague Lord Alverstoke, who has been much too kind to him — indeed, to all of us! — already.”

“Oh, but he didn’t plague him! He told us that you had forbidden him to do so, and assured my brother that he was only asking him —!”

“Oh, dear, what a dreadful boy he is! I do beg your pardon: he told me that you said you wished to watch this ascension, and I’m very sure you don’t, ma’am!”

“On the contrary! I shall enjoy it excessively — and in particular the spectacle of my brother being brought round a small and probably grubby thumb!”

“Certainly grubby!” said Frederica ruefully. “Isn’t it odd that you may send a little boy out as neat as wax, and within half-an-hour he will be a perfect shag-rag?”

“Yes, and in that respect they are all exactly alike. I have three sons, you know, Miss Merri — Oh, no, why should we peel eggs? Frederica! We are cousins, are we not?”

“Well, I think we are,” said Frederica. “Only — only rather remote, I’m afraid!” She hesitated, and then said candidly: “It must seem very odd to you that I should have asked Lord Alverstoke to befriend us. The thing was he was the only relation whose name I knew. My father had several times spoken of him, so — so I was so bold-faced as to apply to him. I was very anxious, you see, that my sister should have a London season.”

“I can readily understand that,” Eliza said, looking towards Charis, who made one of a group of young people on the opposite side of the room. “I see she has Endymion Dauntry on a string: if he were not so handsome one would take him for a mooncalf! Is that his sister, Chloë, talking to young Wrenthorpe? How monstrous that he should be so much the better-looking!” She withdrew her gaze, and smiled at Frederica: “Alverstoke tells me that you are under the chaperonage of an aunt, but that she is not here tonight: I should like to make her acquaintance, so I shall pay her a morning visit, if you think she would not dislike it?”

“She could not do so, but I fear you would not be very likely to find her at home,” said Frederica. Her brow was creased, and she sighed. “It is a most unfortunate circumstance — well, a very sad circumstance! — that my uncle, who lives in Harley Street, is dangerously ill, not expected to recover, which, indeed, one would not wish him to do, for he has been a sufferer from a painful and incurable disease for a long time. My Aunt Seraphina feels it to be her duty to support her sister, and spends almost the whole of every day in Harley Street. My Aunt Amelia is in great affliction, which seems to suspend her every faculty. She is — er — all sensibility, and the least thing overpowers her.” She added hastily: “Not that I mean to say this is a little thing!”

“I know just what you mean,” interposed Eliza. “Poor soul! I sincerely pity her, but I shall spare you any flowery commonplaces. I fancy we are alike in preferring the word with the bark on it: it is in the highest degree unfortunate that this should have happened just now! You must be most awkwardly placed, without your chaperon. Well, I mean to stay in London for a few weeks, so perhaps I may be able to come to your rescue.”