“No, he didn’t,” Prue assured him with a slightly wistful smile. Nor was there ever any French book for him to take.

“Well, it seems to me those shelves are half empty, and they used to be full. Why, we spoke at one time of requiring another, but it is not necessary now. They are only half full. Dr. Ashington, now, has five thousand books.” Clarence had taken this statistic for his own, and broadcast it among his friends, sometimes as five hundred, sometimes as five hundred thousand, either of which was equally impressive to him as being an incalculable, unreadable number. Dr. Ashington, still in London with his name appearing in the paper to be pointed out to Mrs. Hering and Sir Alfred, loomed larger in Clarence’s thoughts than Dammler. His title of Doctor, while not raising him to the peerage, was as far removed from Elmtree’s ken as a dukedom, and as valuable.

“He was an interesting man. You should call to see how his mama goes on, Prue. She always liked you. I daresay it is her being so ill that keeps him away from the house. He would appreciate your calling. I read in The Observer that he is giving a lecture on Plato and Aristotle and some other Italian tonight. You will take it in, I suppose?”

“No, I do not plan to attend.”

“The carriage will be free if you would like to go. Wilma will be happy to go with you. She is interested in that sort of thing.”

Prudence exchanged a silent, speaking glance with her mother. The only thing more foolish he could have suggested would be that he was interested himself, but he wasn’t quite so eager for the return of the Doctor as to put himself out an iota. “It is busy this afternoon, however,” he remarked. “John Groom has to give it a wash and polish. It is covered in mud.”

“Mama and I will take a hackney down town,” Prue told him.

“I am feeling a little peakey, dear,” her mother said. She did look pulled, Prudence noticed.

“Never mind, I’ll stay home. I did want to select a frame for my portrait though,” she added cunningly, hoping to eke at least a footman out of her uncle.

“Oh, well, if that is why you want to be off gallivanting, I daresay one of the boys can be spared to go along with you and carry it,” Clarence told her, a little mollified.

It was just outside the framing shop that she ran into Lady Melvine, and stopped for a chat. After the initial exchange of courtesies, Prue asked if she had heard anything more from Dammler. He was the main link between them, and she thought the question not encroaching.

“He does not write me often, naughty boy. No mention of returning to town. But I fancy we know what is keeping him busy.” Neither of them fancied the play for Drury Lane had anything to do with it

Prue laughed in a manner she considered worldly, and added daringly, “And he promised me he would be a good boy, too. Give him a scold for me. Tell him I disapprove of his distraction."

“That I shall. Do you go to the play this evening? It promises to be good. Kean-always a delight.”

“No, not tonight,” Prudence answered, intimating she would put it off until another evening, though, of course, she would not be going at all. “We are busy elsewhere tonight,” and added to herself, busy playing Pope Joan at a penny a hand.

“You have your distractions, too, I see,” Lady Melvine teased gaily. She heartily approved of a pretty young dasher who knew her way about town.

“It doesn’t do to become stale.”

“Much chance! Tell me who he is,” Hettie asked eagerly.

“Oh, just a friend,” Prue replied as airily as though it were true.

“Tell me, does Seville still pester you? Dammler told me of his offer.”

How strong was the temptation to lie and say he did, in hopes that it would be relayed to Finefields, but she contented herself with concealing the truth. “I never accept an offer to go out with him,” she said, truthfully but misleadingly, as no offer was ever made.

“You could do worse, my dear. Full of juice. He has been accepted into the Four Horse Club, I hear. Buying Alvanley’s greys for a thousand pounds might have had something to do with it, though he is a fine whip, Dammler tells me.”

“Yes.” Looking up, Prudence was aghast to see the tall form of Seville approaching them. Guilt and shame overcame her-she would be revealed for the liar she was. She doubted Seville would do more than lift his hat in passing. To forestall any idea that they were on such cool terms, she hailed him merrily as he passed by.

“Why, Mr. Seville, congratulations are due to you. I hear you are in the FHC. Not wearing your outfit I see.”

He stopped and smiled civilly. “No, we do not meet today. Thursdays, you know, in George Street, Hanover Square, to trot over to the Windmill. How do you go on, Miss Mallow? I haven’t seen you since…"

She jumped in to prevent exposure of the date of their last meeting. “From Hanover Square you leave? I must go down and see you off one day. I have never seen it. I hear it is a famous sight.”

“There is usually a pretty good turnout to see us off.”

Seville was astonished at this change in her behaviour. Quite throwing herself at his head. It occurred to him she regretted her decision in refusing him. Her brash manner also led him to suspect she had known all along it was not marriage he had meant. She had been pulling his leg- having a little joke at his expense. He always thought she was up to all the rigs. But she was too late-negotiations were nearing completion for his nuptials with the “Barren” Baroness, and even more interesting plans afoot for teaming up with a pretty little dancer from Covent Garden.

“I will be in the crowd next time. Look out for me,” Prudence said, to keep up the appearance of friendship.

“I won’t be there next time. I am off to Bath tomorrow for a week’s visit.”

“Oh, I have never been to Bath. I should like to see it some time. Is it nice? I thought it was quite dull nowadays."

Why, the minx was clearly throwing herself at his head. If that wasn’t a hint! “A little quiet. One must make one’s own excitement.”

“I’m sure you are well able to do that.”

“I hope to keep from being moped to death,” he answered, then turning aside to Hettie, he addressed some few remarks to her. Happy to think she had brushed through not too badly, Prudence took her leave of them both with a wave of her hand, as though she had a million things to do. She was only looking for a hired hack to climb in and take home the frame she had selected for Clarence’s approval.

“Miss Mallow is so charming-a pity she turned you down,” Lady Melvine continued on talking to Seville. “But one hears you will soon be making an announcement of a match with someone quite different.”

This was the first intimation Seville had that Miss Mallow had told anyone of his offer to her. Since she had appeared to misunderstand it, he was relieved she had kept it to herself. The old Baroness would fly into the boughs if she heard of that tale. He hardly knew what to say-to deny outright having made her a proper offer would be ungentlemanly, and to confirm it would be a disaster to himself. “I hadn’t realized she was bruiting it around,” he parried for time.

“No, now I come to think of it, I believe she told only Dammler, and in the greatest secrecy. He told no one but myself, and I have not breathed a word. But it is no secret to you that you offered for her, so no harm done."

“Is that what she says-that I offered for her? Ha, ha, well it never does to contradict a lady, what? But don’t spread it around. A certain Baroness you know, would not like to hear it.”

Lady Melvine’s suspicions were naturally aroused at this veiled statement “Why, you rascal, Seville, I believe you deceived the poor girl.”

“Deceived her? There was some deceit in the business I begin to think, but you must not be too hasty in placing the blame.”

He left, eager to extract himself from the unpleasant predicament without being too specific. But his words fell on fertile soil. Miss Mallow was not seven years old, and she must have known as well as everyone else in the city that Seville was dangling after the Baroness. Why, he had offered Prudence nothing but a carte blanche, and she had elected to turn it into an offer in form, and for no other reason but to make Dammler jealous. All her sly questions and comments about being displeased of the Countess Malvern. What a clever little article she was, to be sure, and making herself out the picture of innocence. She, with her drawing the line at five by-blows, and her Maidenhair Ferns, and its being the births Dammler was interested in. Such wily behaviour as this was sheer joy to Hettie. She went straight home and penned a long letter to Dammler telling him the whole amusing story, together with every other bit of gossip she could think of, then set it aside and forgot about it until, two days later, Bishop Michael’s wife left him. This was written into another letter, and when she prepared to send it off, she discovered the first one still on the desk, and slipped it into the envelope also.

“Our innocent Miss Prudence has been bamming us all,” she had written. “Seville’s offer may have been in form, but not the form she would have us believe. It was nothing else but his mistress he meant to make her, as I told you all along. Yes, and I think she regrets turning him off, too, for she was fairly throwing her cap at him today on Bond Street. But he escapes her and goes to Bath (with his chère amie, I fancy). How surprised he will be if Miss M. follows him down. She claimed a great interest in seeing Bath. But I may be mistaken-I believe she has some other beau in her eye, as well. She is full of engagements. She tells me to inform you she is not pleased with your ‘distraction’ keeping you from work. What can she mean, I wonder!”

She reread it with a chuckle before sealing it, unaware that she had done anything more than give her nephew a good laugh. He seemed always to be laughing over something Miss Mallow had said or done.

Prudence went home in a state of nerves. Not only her study but all of London was becoming intolerable to her. The book was going poorly, and she wished for a change. Dammler had claimed to want peace and quiet to work-she wanted a noisy holiday with not even the pretence of work. Brighton, where the ton would soon be going with the Season coming to a close, was too steep for her poor resources. Mr. Seville’s mention of Bath came to her. Mama had been feeling poorly lately; the waters might do her some good.

The major flaw in the plan was that Mr. Seville would be there. She did not like to give the impression she was trailing after him, as he might be forgiven for thinking after the saucy way she had hailed him on Bond Street. But he was leaving tomorrow-staying only for a week. By the time she had arranged through an agent for lodgings and got herself and Mama there, the week would be up. In fact, she would not go before a week was up. That this also gave Dammler more than double the time he had claimed to require at Finefields had nothing to do with it. He might stay as long and be as distracted as he liked. It was nothing to her.

The subject of the trip was broached at home, with some little trepidation lest Clarence might object to letting his horses take such a journey on their behalf. But to her relief it proved the very thing to put her back in his good graces. Her manner of introducing it may have had something to do with it.

“I was speaking to Mr. Seville today, Uncle,” she said cleverly.

“Seville? Were you indeed? Well, that is nice. I think you gave the marquis short shrift. I am happy to see he is dangling after you again. A Spanish title is no small thing when all’s said and done. So, Seville is back after you, is he? I am happy to hear It.”

“He is going to Bath,” she added. “He spoke very highly of it. I quite wished I were going myself. I shouldn’t wonder if the waters would be good for you, too, Mama.”

Mrs. Mallow was delighted to see her daughter divert her thoughts from the impossible direction of Lord Dammler and she too thought the waters would do her a world of good. The very thing. Even more good to see Prudence settled with Mr. Seville. She had no illusions as to his having a title up his sleeve.

“So you are off to Bath with Seville, eh?” Clarence ran on, making up a story to please himself and Mrs. Hering.

“Not with Mr. Seville, Uncle. He leaves tomorrow. But I should like to go along a little later.”

“You will be needing the carriage then. I am happy I had John Groom give it a good scrubbing down for you. We will hire an extra team and send you off in style with four. We wouldn’t want Seville to think us skints.”