“And leaving early to go to some horrid gaming hell,” interpolated Miss Milborne.

The Viscount had the grace to blush, but he regarded her with a kindling eye, and said grimly: “Pray what do you know of gaming hells, miss?”

“I am thankful to say I know nothing at all of them, except that you are for ever in one, which all the world knows. It grieves me excessively.”

“Oh, does it?” said his lordship, anything but gratified by this evidence of his adored’s solicitude.

“Yes,” said Miss Milborne. An agreeable vision of the Viscount’s being reclaimed from a life of vice by his love for a good woman presented itself to her. She raised her lovely eyes to his face, and said: “Perhaps I ought not to speak of it, but — but you have shown an unsteadiness of character, Sherry, a — a want of delicacy of principle which makes it impossible for me to accept of your offer. I do not desire to give you pain, but the company you keep, your extravagance, the wildness of your conduct, must preclude any female of sensibility from bestowing her hand upon you.”

“But, Bella!” protested his horrified lordship. “Good God, my dear girl, that will all be a thing of the past! I shall make a famous husband! I swear I shall! I never looked at another female — ”

“Never looked at another female? Sherry, how can you? With my own eyes I saw you at Vauxhall with the most vulgar, hateful — ”

“Not in the way of marriage, I mean!” said the Viscount hastily. “That was nothing — nothing in the world! If you hadn’t driven me to distraction — ”

“Fiddle!” snapped Miss Milborne.

“But I tell you I love you madly — devotedly! My whole life will be blighted if you won’t marry me!”

“It won’t. You will merely go on making stupid bets, and racing, and gaming, and — ”

“Well, you’re out there,” interrupted Sherry. “I shan’t be able to, because if I don’t get married I shall be all to pieces.”

This blunt admission had the effect of making Miss Milborne stiffen quite alarmingly. “Indeed!” she said.

“Am I to understand, my lord, that you have offered for my hand as a means of extricating yourself from your debts?”

“No, no, of course I haven’t! If that had been my only reason I might have offered for a score of girls any time these past three years!” replied his lordship ingenuously. “Fact of the matter is, Bella, I’ve never been able to bring myself up to scratch before, though the lord knows I’ve tried! Never saw any female except you I could think of tying myself up to for life — I’ll take my oath I haven’t! Ask Gil! Ask Ferdy! Ask George! Ask anyone you like! They’ll all tell you it’s true.”

“I don’t desire to ask them. I dare say you would never have thought of offering for me either if your father had not left his fortune in that stupid way!”

“No, I dare say I shouldn’t,” agreed the Viscount. “At least, yes, I should! of course I should! But only consider, my dear girl! The whole fortune left in trust until I’m twenty-five, unless I marry before that date! You must see what a devil of a fix I’m in!”

“Certainly,” said Miss Milborne freezingly. “I cannot conceive why you do not immediately offer for one of the scores of females who would doubtless be glad to marry you!”

“But I don’t want to marry anyone but you!” declared her harassed suitor. “Couldn’t think of it! Damn it all, Isabella, I keep on telling you I love you!”

“Well, I do not return your love, my lord!” said Miss Milborne, much mortified. “I wonder you will not offer for Cassy instead, for I’m sure Mrs Bagshot has positively thrown her at your head any time these past six months! Or if you are so squeamish as to object to poor Cassy’s complexion, which I will own to be sadly freckled, I make no doubt Eudora would think herself honoured if you should throw your handkerchief in her direction! But as for me, my lord, though I’m sure I wish you very well, the thought of marriage with you has never entered my head, and I must tell you once more, and for the last time, that I cannot accept your obliging offer!”

“Isabella!” pronounced Lord Sheringham, in boding accents, “don’t try me too far! If you love Another — You know, Bella, if it’s Severn you mean to have, I can tell you now you won’t get him. Youdon’t know the Duchess! Can’t call his soul his own, poor old Severn, and she’ll never let him marry you, take my word for it!”

Miss Milborne rose from her chair abruptly. “I think you are the most odious, abominable creature in the world!” she said angrily. “I never — Oh, I wish you will go away!”

“If you send me away, I shall go straight to the devil!” threatened his lordship.

Miss Milborne tittered. “I dare say you will find yourself mightily at home, my lord!”

The Viscount ground his teeth. “You will be sorry for your cruelty, ma’am, when it is too late!”

“Really, my lord, if we are to talk of play-acting — !”

“Who’s talking of play-acting?” demanded the Viscount.

“You did.”

“Never talked of any such thing! You’re enough to drive a man out of his senses, Isabella!”

She shrugged and turned away from him. The Viscount, feeling that he had perhaps not shown that lover-like ardour which, he was persuaded, consumed him, took two strides towards her and tried to take her in his arms. He received a box on the ear which made his eyes water, and for an instant was in danger of forgetting that he was no longer a schoolboy confronting a tiresome little girl. Miss Milborne, reading retaliation in his face, strategically retired behind a small table, and said tragically: “Go!”

The Viscount regarded her with a measuring eye. “By God, if I could get my hands on you, Bella, I’d — ” He broke off as his incensed gaze absorbed her undeniable beauty. His face softened. “No, I wouldn’t,” he said. “Wouldn’t hurt a hair of your head! Now, Bella, won’t you — ”

“No!” almost shrieked Miss Milborne. “And I wish you will not call me Bella!”

“Oh, very well, Isabella, then!” said his lordship, willing to make concessions. “But won’t you — ”

“No!” reiterated Miss Milborne. “Go away! I hate you!”

“No, you don’t,” said his lordship. “At least, you never did, and damme if I can see why you should suddenly change your mind!”

“Yes, I do! You are a gamester, and a libertine, and

“If you say another word, I will box your ears!” said the Viscount furiously. “Libertine be damned! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Bella!”

Miss Milborne, aware of having been betrayed into unmaidenly behaviour, burst into tears. Before the greatly discomposed Viscount could take appropriate action the door opened and Mrs Milborne came into the room.

Mrs Milborne’s eye took in the situation at a glance, and she lost no time in hustling the discomfited young man out of the house. His protestations fell on inattentive ears. She said: “Yes, yes, Anthony, but you must go away, indeed you must! Isabella is not well enough to receive guests! I cannot imagine who can have let you into the house! It is most obliging in you to have called, and pray convey my respects to your dear Mama, but at this present we are not receiving visitors!”

She put his hat and his gloves into his hands and inexorably showed him out of the front door. By the time she had returned to the drawing room, Isabella had dried her eyes and recovered her composure. Her mother looked at her with raised brows. “Did he make you an offer, my love?”

“Yes, he did,” replied Isabella, sniffing into her handkerchief.

“Well, I see nothing to cry about in that,” said Mrs Milborne briskly. “You should bear in mind, my love, that the shedding of tears has the very disagreeable effect of reddening a female’s eyes. I suppose you refused him?”

Her daughter nodded, sniffing rather more convulsively. “Yes, of course I did, Mama. And I said I could never marry anyone with so little d-delicacy of principle, or — ”

“Quite unnecessary,” said Mrs Milborne. “I wonder you should show so little delicacy yourself, Isabella, as to refer to those aspects of a gentleman’s life which no well-bred female should know anything about.”

“Well, but Mama, I don’t see how one is to help knowing about Sherry’s excesses, when all the town is talking of them!”

“Nonsense! In any event, there is not the least need for you to mention such matters. Not that I blame you for refusing Sherry. At least, I own that in some ways it would be an ideal match, for he is extremely wealthy, and we have always been particular friends of — But if Severn were to offer you, of course there could be no comparison between them!”

Miss Milborne flushed. “Mama! How can you talk so? I am not so mercenary! It is just that I do not love Sherry, and I am persuaded he does not love me either, for all his protestations!”

“Well, I dare say it will do him no harm to have had a setdown,” replied Mrs Milborne comfortably. “Ten to one, it will bring him to a sense of his position. But if you are thinking of George Wrotham, my love, I hope you will consider carefully before you cast yourself away upon a mere baron, and one whose estates, from all I can discover, are much encumbered. Besides, there is a lack of stability about Wrotham which I cannot like.”

In face of the marked lack of stability which characterized Viscount Sheringham, this remark seemed unjust to Miss Milborne, and she said so, adding that poor Wrotham had not committed the half of Sherry’s follies.

Mrs Milborne did not deny it. She said there was no need for Isabella to be in a hurry to make her choice, and recommended her to take a turn in the garden with a view to calming her spirits and cooling her reddened cheeks.

The Viscount, meanwhile, was riding back to Sheringham Place in high dudgeon. His self-esteem smarted intolerably; and, since he had been in the habit, during the past twelve month, of considering himself to be desperately enamoured of the Incomparable Isabella, and was not a young gentleman who was given to soul searching, it was not long before he was in a fair way to thinking that his life had been blighted past curing. He entered the portals of his ancestral home in anything but a conciliatory mood, therefore, and was not in the least soothed by being informed by the butler that her ladyship, who was in the Blue Saloon, was desirous of seeing him. He felt strongly inclined to tell old Romsey to go to perdition, but as he supposed he would be obliged to visit his mother before returning to London, he refrained from uttering this natural retort, contenting himself with throwing the butler a darkling glance before striding off in the direction of the Blue Saloon.

Here he discovered not only his parent, a valetudinarian of quite amazing stamina, but also his uncle, Horace Paulett.

Since Mr Paulett had taken up his residence at Sheringham Place some years previously, upon the death of the late Lord Sheringham, there was nothing in this circumstance to astonish the Viscount. He had, in fact, expected to find his uncle there, but this did not prevent his ejaculating in a goaded voice: “Good God, you here, uncle?”

Mr Paulett, who was a plump gentleman with an invincible smile and very soft white hands, never permitted himself to be annoyed by his nephew’s patent dislike and frequent incivility. He merely smiled more broadly than ever, and replied: “Yes, my boy, yes! As you see, I am here, at my post beside your dear mother.”

Lady Sheringham, having provided herself with a smelling-bottle to fortify her nerves during an interview with her only child, removed the stopper and inhaled feebly. “I am not sure I do not know what would become of me if I had not my good brother to support me in my lonely state,” she said, in the faint, complaining tone which so admirably concealed a constitution of iron and a strong determination to have her own way.

Her son, who was quite as obstinate as his parent, and a good deal more forthright, replied with paralysing candour: “From what I know of you, ma’am, you would have done excellent well. What’s more, I might have stayed at home every now and then. I don’t say I would have, because I don’t like the place, but I might have.”

So far from evincing any gratification at this handsome admission, Lady Sheringham sought in her reticule for a handkerchief, and applied this wisp of lace and muslin to the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Horace!” she said. “I knew how it would be! So like his father!”

The Viscount did not fall into the error of reading any complimentary meaning into this remark. He said: “Well, dash it, ma’am, there’s no harm in that! Come to think of it, who else should I be like?”