Lucilla said apologetically that she feared her dress was sadly crumpled. “The thing was, you see, that I haven’t been in the way of packing, ma’am.”

“I shouldn’t think you’ve ever done so before, have you?”

“Well, no! But I couldn’t ask my maid to do it for me, because she would have instantly told my aunt. That,” said Lucilla bitterly, “is the worst of servants who have known one since one was a baby!”

“Very true!” agreed Annis. “I am afflicted with several myself, and know just how you feel. Now, tell me by what name I am to present you to people!”

“I did think of calling myself Smith,” said Lucilla doubtfully. “Or—or Brown, perhaps. Some very ordinary name!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t choose anything too ordinary!” said Annis, shaking her head. “It wouldn’t suit you!”

“No, and I am persuaded I should come to hate it,” said Lucilla naively. She hesitated for a moment. “I think I’ll keep my own name, after all, on account of not being rag-mannered, which I’m afraid I was, when I wouldn’t let Ninian tell you what it is. I was in dread that you might betray me to my horrid uncle, but that was because I didn’t know you, or how kind you are. So I’ll tell you, ma’am. It’s Carleton—with an E in the middle,” she added conscientiously.

“I will take care not to reveal the E to a living soul,” promised Annis, with perfect gravity. “Anyone could be called Carlton without an E in the middle, but the E gives distinction to the name, and that, of course, is what you wish to avoid. So now that we have settled that problem let us go down to the drawing-room and await Mr Elmore’s arrival!”

“If he does arrive!” said Lucilla unhopefully. “Not that it signifies if he doesn’t, except that my conscience will suffer a severe blow, even though it wasn’t my fault that he came with me. But if he gets into a hobble I shall never cease to blame myself for having left him quite stranded!”

“But why should he be stranded?” said Annis reasonably. “We left him some eight miles short of Bath—not in the middle of a desert! Even if he can’t hire a vehicle, he might easily walk the rest of the way, don’t you think?”

“No,” said Lucilla, sighing. “He wouldn’t think it at all the thing. I don’t care a button for such antiquated flummery, but he does. I am excessively attached to him, because I’ve known him all my life, but I cannot deny that he is sadly wanting in—in dash! In fact, he is a pudding-heart, ma’am!”

“Surely you are too severe!” objected Miss Wychwood, ushering her into the drawing-room. “Of course, I am barely acquainted with him, but it did not seem to me that he was wanting in dash! To have aided and abetted you in your flight was not the action of a pudding-heart, you must own!”

Lucilla frowned over this, and tried, not very successfully, to explain the circumstances which had led young Mr Elmore to embark on what was probably the only adventure of his blameless career. “He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been sure that Lord Iverley would have thought it the right thing,” she said. “Though I daresay Lord Iverley will blame him for not having stopped me, which is wickedly unjust, and so I shall tell him if he gives poor Ninian one of his scolds! For how could he expect Ninian to be full of pluck when he has brought him up to be a pattern-card of—of amiable compliance? Ninian always does exactly what Lord Iverley wishes him to do—even when it comes to offering for me, which he doesn’t in the least want to do! And for my part I don’t believe Lord Iverley would have a fatal heart-attack if Ninian refused to obey him, but Lady Iverley does think so, and has reared Ninian to believe that it is his sacred duty not to do anything to put his papa out of curl. And I will say this for Ninian: he has a very kind heart, besides holding Lord Iverley in great affection, and having pretty strict notions of—of filial duty; and I daresay he would liefer do anything in the world than drive his papa into his grave.”

Surprised, Miss Wychwood said: “But is Lord Iverley—I collect he is Ninian’s father?—a very old man?”

“Oh, no, not very old!” replied Lucilla. “He is the same age as my papa would have been, if Papa hadn’t died when I was just seven years old. He was killed at Corunna, and Lord Iverley—well, he wasn’t Lord Iverley then, but Mr William Elmore, because old Lord Iverley was still alive—but, in any event, he brought my papa’s sword, and his watch, and his diary, and the very last letter he had scribbled to my mama, home to England, and gave them to my mama. They say he has never been the same man since Papa died. They were bosom-bows, you see, from the time when they were both at Harrow, and even joined the same regiment, and were never parted until Papa was killed! Which I perfectly see is a very touching story, for I am not hardhearted, whatever Aunt Clara may say! But what I do not see, and never shall see, is why Ninian and I must be married merely because our fathers, in the milkiest way, made an idiotish scheme that we should!”

“It does seem a trifle unreasonable,” admitted Miss Wychwood.

“Yes, and because, when he married my mama, Papa bought a house just beyond the gates of Chartley Place, and Ninian and I were almost brought up together, and were very good friends, nothing will persuade Lord Iverley that we were not made for one another! And, most unfortunately, Ninian has fallen in love with someone whom Lord and Lady Iverley have taken in strong dislike—though why they should have done so I can’t imagine, for they never stir out of Chartley Place, and have never set eyes on her! I daresay they think her rather too old for Ninian, and I must own it does seem strange that he should be dangling after a lady at least thirty years of age, and very likely more!”

This circumstance did not seem strange to Miss Wychwood, but what seemed very strange indeed to her was that the Iverleys should be taking so serious a view of what was, to her understanding, a case of calf-love, of violent but short duration. She said, smiling a little: “I expect it does seem strange to you, Lucilla, but it is a well-known fact that young men are very apt to fall in love with women older than themselves. I fancy the Iverleys have no need to go into high fidgets over it!”

“Oh, no, of course they haven’t!” Lucilla agreed. “Good gracious, he fell desperately in love with some girl when he was in his first year at Oxford, and even I could guess that she was most ineligible! Fortunately, he fell out of love with her before the Iverleys knew anything about it, so they didn’t fuss and fret over it. But this time some tattling busybody wrote to tell Lord Iverley that Ninian was making up to this London-lady, so Lord Iverley taxed him with it, and Lady Iverley implored him not to—to hasten his father’s end by persisting in—in his suit, and—”

“Good God!” interrupted Miss Wychwood. “What a couple of cabbage-heads! They deserve that Ninian should marry this undesirable female out of hand!” She caught herself up on this impulsive utterance, and said: “I shouldn’t say so, but I have an unruly tongue! Forget it! Am I right in thinking that Chartley Place is somewhere to the north of Salisbury? Is that where you too five?”

“No, not now. I did live there until Mama died, three years ago, but since then I’ve lived at Cheltenham, with my aunt and my uncle, and the house, which belongs to me, has been leased to strangers.”

This disclosure left Miss Wychwood at a loss. The words were melancholy, but the manner in which they were uttered was not at all melancholy. She said, tentatively: “No doubt it must have been distressing to you to see strangers in your house?”

“Oh, no, not at all!” responded Lucilla sunnily. “They are very agreeable people and pay a most handsome rent, besides keeping the grounds in excellent order. I should be happy to live in Cheltenham if my aunt would but take me to the Assemblies, and the theatre—but she won’t, because she says I am too young, and it would be improper for me to go to balls and routs and drums until I have been regularly presented! But she doesn’t think me too young to be married! That,” she said, her eyes kindling wrathfully, “is why she took me to Chartley Place!” She paused, her bosom swelling with indignation. “Miss Wychwood!” she said explosively. “C—could you have conceived it possible that anyone could be so—so cockle-brained as to suppose that Ninian, having formed a strong attachment to another lady, would feel the least inclination to make me an offer? Or that I would be so obliging as to accept his offer? But they did!—all of them!” She stopped, deeply flushed, and it was a minute or two before she could overcome her agitation. She managed to do so, however, and continued, in a tight voice, saying: “I thought that if I consented to visit the Iverleys I could depend on Ninian to—to stand buff, even though he lacked the—the spunk to tell his father he didn’t wish to marry me if I wasn’t there to support him! I should have known better!”

Considerably astonished, Miss Wychwood asked: “But am I to understand that he told his father he was willing to offer for you? If that is so, isn’t it possible that—”

“It isn’t so!” said Lucilla flatly. “I don’t know what he said to Lord Iverley, but to me he said that it would be unwise to provoke a quarrel, and that the best thing would be for us to seem to be willing to become engaged, and to trust in providence to rescue us before the knot was tied between us. But I have no faith in providence, ma’am, and I felt as though—as though I was being tangled in a net! And the only thing I could think of to do was to run away. You see, there isn’t anyone I can appeal to since my uncle died—and I daresay he wouldn’t have been of much use, because he always let Aunt Clara have her own way in everything! He was a great dear, but not a man of resolution.”

Miss Wychwood blinked. “Is he dead, then? I beg your pardon, but I thought you said that your uncle would very likely come to find you, if he could be persuaded to bestir himself!”

Lucilla stared at her, and suddenly gave a crack of scornful laughter. “Not that uncle, ma’am! The other one!” she said.

“The other one? To be sure! How stupid I am to have supposed you only had one uncle! Do, pray, tell me about your horrid uncle, so that I shan’t become confused again! Was your amiable uncle his brother?”

“Oh, no! My Uncle Abel was Mama’s brother. My Uncle Oliver is a Carleton, and Papa’s elder brother—though only three years older!” said Lucilla, in further disparagement of Mr Oliver Carleton. “He and my Uncle Abel were appointed to be my guardians, but naturally they weren’t obliged to take care of me while Mama was alive, except for managing my fortune.”

“Have you a fortune?” asked Miss Wychwood, much impressed.

“Well, I think I have, because Aunt Clara is for ever telling me to beware of fortune-hunters, but it seems to me that it belongs to my Uncle Oliver, and not to me at all, because I am not allowed to spend it! He sends my allowance to Aunt Clara, and she only gives me pin-money, and when I wrote to tell him that I was old enough to buy dresses myself,he sent me a disagreeable answer, refusing to alter the arrangement! Whenever I have appealed to him he always says that my aunt knows best, and I must do as she bids me! He is the most odiously selfish person in the world, and hasn’t a particle of affection for me. Only fancy, ma’am, he has an enormous house in London, and has never asked me to visit him! Not once! And when I suggested that he might like me to keep house for him he answered in the rudest way that he wouldn’t like it at all!”

“That was certainly uncivil, but perhaps he thought you rather too young to keep house. I collect he is not married?”

“Good gracious, no!” said Lucilla. “Which just shows you, doesn’t it?”

“I must own that he does sound very disagreeable,” admitted Annis.

“Yes, and what is more his manners are most disobliging—in fact, he is detestably top-lofty, never takes the least trouble to behave with civility to anyone, and—and treats one with the sort of stupid indifference which makes one long to hit him!”

Since it was obvious that she was fast working herself into a state of considerable agitation, it was perhaps fortunate that the entrance of Miss Farlow acted as an effectual stop to any further animadversions on the character of Mr Oliver Carleton. Miss Farlow’s demeanour informed her employer that she was deeply wounded, but determined to bear the slight cast upon her with Christian resignation. Nothing could have exceeded her civility to Lucilla, which was so punctilious as almost to crush that ebullient young lady; and the manner in which she listened to whatever Annis said, and instantly agreed with it, was so servile that an impartial observer might well have supposed her to be the slave of a tyrannical mistress. But just as Annis, exasperated beyond endurance by these tactics, was on the point of losing her temper, Mr Elmore was announced, creating a welcome diversion.