A few people were standing beside them looking in the window display, where Miss Mallow’s three novels were on view. One lady, her attention caught by the prepossessing appearance of Dammler, noticed that the lady with him was none other than Miss Mallow. She had just bought The Cat in the Garden and, with an apology for disturbing them, asked if the author would sign it.

“I read all your books, Miss Mallow. I like them very much.”

"Thank you; you are very kind,” Prudence said, signing her name.

“I am surprised you come to Bath to work,” the woman went on. “You must find it dull after London.”

“No, I like it very much.”

“I have heard a rumour Lord Dammler is here, too, but I shouldn’t think it’s true.”

“Oh,” Prudence turned to Dammler, thinking to present him, but he shook his head discreetly.

“No, there would be nothing here to interest him,” the lady continued in a disparaging tone. “No harems or Indian princesses.” She thanked Miss Mallow and went on her way.

"Lo, how the mighty have fallen,” Dammler said sadly.

“It is your not having on your patch that prevented her recognizing you,” Prudence consoled him.

“You try to put a good face on it to recover my disgrace, but it is clear you have outpaced me.”

“How nonsensical you are.”

“She has my number. Harems and Indian princesses. But you see she is wrong. I am here in dull old Bath.”

“Why are you here, if you find it dull?”

“Why do you think?” he asked with a long look that caused Prudence to take a great interest in her cartoon. He said no more, but offered her his arm to continue their walk."

“You are staying with Lady Cleff, aren’t you?” Prudence asked.

“Yes, she is a cousin. A very respectable cousin.”

“She is quite the terror of Bath. You will not care much for her set, I think.”

“I like them excessively. I hardly know whether I am more interested with the Right Reverend Thomas Tisdale or the gentleman-the name eludes me but he resembles a sheep-who is doing a study on the Dissenters. I was shocked to see you missed the lecture on Dissenters, Miss Mallow. Very informative. The Scottish Anglicans, you know, are not included in the group, nor are the Recusants. They dissent, but for some reason they are not officially included in the group.”

“You are become highly religious.”

“Our company is not comprised solely of Divines. We also include a brace of octogenarians interested in finding a cure for gout and a man, or possibly a lady with a moustache, who means to revolutionize the calendar and give us a whole month of summer. The three days in June we presently enjoy do seem insufficient to me after my sojourn in the tropics. I mean to take up membership in the moustache’s group.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Prudence laughed, shaking her head, and happy to see him behaving more like himself.

“Yes I have. Truly I have, Prudence, but I must just let off a little steam after being under such pressure with my cousin.” He sounded so intense that Prudence stared at him.

They resumed their seats in the carriage, and Prudence decided to discuss what must be in both their minds, the evening at Reading. “Did you see anything of Mr. Seville in London?” she asked, to initiate the subject.

“No, but he was to call on Hettie-told her about having offered for you. I did him an injustice,” he admitted stiffly.

“But you didn’t tell him so?”

“I am telling you so, that is more to the point. I behaved very badly and have been wanting to apologize.”

“Yes, you did behave abominably,” she agreed. He said nothing, but firmed his resolve to reform.

Prudence thought he might now give some reason for his atrocious behaviour. Surely the reason had been jealousy, and jealousy just as surely must have been rooted in his love for her, but though she allowed him a full minute to say so, he said nothing.

“Oh, there is Sir Henry Millar," she said, nodding and smiling to a passing acquaintance. “He is down here to rent and furnish a house for his mistress, an actress from Covent Garden. No doubt you know her-she goes by the name Yvonne duPuis, though she is actually from Cornwall. She is not here at the moment."

This coming on top of his own efforts at respectability angered Dammler. “I dislike to hear you speak so openly of these matters, Prudence. They are not things a young lady ought to discuss with a gentleman.”

She was first dumbfounded, then scornful. “I have always heard a leopard does not change his spots, Dammler. Tell me now, as a world traveller, is not that true, or are you an exception to the general rule? You were not used to be so nice in your ideas of subjects suitable for discussion with a lady."

“You don’t have to remind me of my past. I am trying to change…”

“Your behaviour or your conversation?”

“Both.”

“But we writers, you know, are up to anything, as your old friend ‘Silence’ Jersey says. Come, you claim to detest hypocrisy. Confess the truth. You are bored to finders in dull Bath, and languishing to get back to the City and your Phyrne.”

“I have got rid of my Phyrne.”

“Wilted on you, did she?”

She could see he was reining in his temper and about ready to burst with the effort, but was in no way dismayed. “No, she was flourishing under the protection of a certain baron when I left.”

“I should like to know, in case I ever have to write about it, how one goes about getting rid of a Phyrne. Is she given an annuity, or just sold outright to the highest bidder?”

“Prudence!” he said in a warning voice.

“Or was she on straight wages-so much a day, or night.”

“You are not likely to require such information for anything you write, unless you have changed your style of writing a good deal.”

“Ahwell, who knows? Seville only offered marriage, but I may end up with a carte blanche in my pocket yet.”

“That is not amusing, Prudence,” he said, a flash of anger leaping in his eyes.

Satisfied at the effect of her goading, she answered quite sweetly, “It was supposed to be.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Don’t talk like that.”

"Iwas under the misapprehension you held a high opinion of the world’s oldest profession. Much better than wives who carry on intrigues, you said.”

“You are not a wife yet.”

“And not likely to be in the near future,” she returned airily. She was vastly annoyed that he did not follow up this excellent lead, but he looked quite relieved. He didn’t know what degree of intimacy she had achieved with Springer, but apparently marriage was not in her mind.

“My aunt tells me you see a good deal of Ronald Springer,” he said, making it sound careless.

Piqued at his lack of saying anything more to the point than this, she answered, “Yes, we are quite back on the old footing. There is hardly a day I don’t see him. In fact, we ought to be getting back. What time is it?”

“About half past chapter ten,” he replied, without looking at his watch.

She looked at him with the blankest incomprehension. “What would that be, Greenwich time?” she asked.

“Three thirty. I’ll take you home.”

He asked if he might bring his aunt to call the next day, and Prudence agreed. When she went into the house, she was displeased with the outing. He had intimated he was here only because of her, but made no move towards an offer. What was he up to? And there was a new stiffness, almost amounting to priggishness, in his manner, that irked her excessively. But she would take care of that!

Chapter 19

The next day Dammler brought his cousin to visit, and after reminding them of each others’ names, he took a seat beside the Pillar. The Pillar then began her catechism, to see whether or not she had erred in coming to visit persons in rented lodgings.

“Dammler tells me you write,” she said to Prudence in an accusing tone, lifting the lorgnette.

“Yes ma’am I write a little-novels.”

“I suppose they are Gothic novels.”

“No, they are realistic modem novels.”

“I do not read novels,” she said, and turned to Mrs. Mallow. “You have been ill, I hear.”

Illness proved more acceptable than writing novels. The nature of the malady was explained, and the Countess shook her head sadly. “It Is an error to eat at inns. One should not eat when travelling.”

“Lord Dammler would have found that inconvenient on his tour around the world,” Prudence remarked, becoming annoyed at this haughty tone.

“He should not have gone travelling,” she was told, as though such a corollary should have been self-evident.

“Knighton took good care of my sister,” Clarence mentioned, always wanting to be mentioning a famous name. “He is very good about making a call.”

“You had Knighton,” the Countess said, nodding her head in approval. About one tenth of her chill dissipated, though nothing approaching a smile appeared on her orange cheeks.

“I always have Knighton when I am out of sorts,” Clarence told her.

“I will give you my doctor’s address, here in Bath,” she offered. “Remind me, Dammler. You are fond of art, I believe, Mr. Elmtree,” she said next, having apparently had a resume of each before coming.

“Yes, I am always painting. I did the whole Chiltern family just before coming. Seven of them. I hope to get a little time in on some landscapes while I am here.”

“You will want to paint Beecher Hill,” she said. “There are some nice scenes there.”

Clarence stored up the name, to write in his first note to Sir Alfred that the Countess of Cleff had recommended it. “I usually do portraits, but each spring I find myself drawn outdoors to try my hand at Nature.”

Lady Cleff approved of Nature. "That is wise,” she allowed. “What sort of portraits do you do?”

“Oh pretty good ones, I think, if I don’t flatter myself too much. I think Dammler will tell you I paint a pretty good picture.”

“Very good,” Dammler confirmed readily. “In the style of Mona Lisa, Cousin.”

“I like that,” she declared. "There is too much of dressing people in outlandish outfits like Grecians or nymphs and sitting them in strange poses. Phillips and Romney, for instance-always rigging their people out in ridiculous costumes.”

“Ho, Romney, he knew nothing of painting,” Clarence said with enthusiasm. “He is dead, you know. One ought not to speak ill of the dead, but he knew nothing of painting.”

“Romney painted me,” the Countess informed him, her parrot’s nose achieving a sharp point in disapproval.

“You shouldn’t have let him near you. I daresay he gave you a sharp nose and too wide a form.”

Prudence drew in a sharp breath at this telling description of their caller, and looked at the Countess in fear. She found a smile of gratification on that white and orange face. Glancing at Dammler, she thought he was unmoved, till she noticed the laughter lurking in his eyes.

“You should have Mr. Elmtree do a proper likeness of you, Cousin,” he suggested to the Dowager.

“I am past all that,” she demurred, but in no very conclusive manner.

“Nonsense,” Clarence stated firmly. “I could make you look very nice. I know just how to get that bright orange for the cheeks, and the nose would be no problem. I am quite good at a nose.”

These blatant insults were accepted with a smirk, and a preening hand went to the turban on the Countess’ head. “Well, I may have another portrait done. I never thought Romney did me justice.”

“Mr. Elmtree is the very one to do you justice,” Dammler said, flickering a look at Prudence, who shook her head ever so slightly in disapproval.

“I have my paints with me,” Clarence urged on the scheme. “I should be very happy to try my hand at such a challenging model.”

The Countess read even this slur into a compliment, not knowing the challenge lay in her ugliness. “I shall consider it,” she decreed.

She accepted a cup of tea, and when she arose to take her leave she said, “You will call and take Miss Mallow out for a ride one day, Dammler.” She had found the persons satisfactory.

No one present, even including Clarence, saw fit to tell her he had already done so. “She will be happy to go,” was his only comment. “She works too hard.” Prudence had hardly set pen to paper since coming to Bath, and never when he was present to see it.

Dammler made no protest whatsoever, and the Countess said when leaving, “It is settled then,” very well pleased with this highhanded manner of arranging young peoples’ lives.

As the two drove home, the Countess said to Dammler, “I am happy to see you have some worthwhile friends in London. Mrs. Mallow has nothing to say, but Mr. Elmtree is quite unexceptionable, and the girl is well enough. She does just as she is bid by her uncle, and it is reassuring to see that in a young lady nowadays. No doubt she will settle down now that her uncle is here. She was racketing about not chaperoned as she should be, but that will come to an end.”