Sir Geoffrey shook his head. “A man don’t change his habits,” he said. “I don’t believe in reformed rakes, Amabel.”

“I don’t mean to set up my opinion against your judgment, for naturally you must know best, but has it occurred to you, dearest, that although we have heard a great deal about his mistresses, and the shameless way he flaunts them abroad, and the money he squanders on them, we have never heard of his attaching himself particularly to any girl of quality? Indeed, I believe Annis is the only woman to whom he has offered marriage, though lures past counting have been thrown out to him, because even the highest sticklers think that his wealth is enough to make him acceptable. So don’t you think, Geoffrey, that perhaps he never truly loved anyone until he met Annis? Which makes me feel that they were destined for each other, for it has been the same with her. I don’t mean, of course, exactly the same, but only think of the offers she has received, and refused! Such brilliant ones, too! Never, until she met Mr Carleton, has she been in love! Not even with Lord Sedgeley, though one would have said he was the very man for her! You will think me fanciful, I daresay, but it seems to me as if—as if each of them has been waiting for the other for years, and when they at last met they—they fell in love, as though it had been ordained that they should!”

Sir Geoffrey, listening to this speech in frowning silence, was secretly impressed by it, but all he said was: “Well, you may be right, my love, but I do think that you’re being fanciful! All I can say is that if you are right, I wish to God they never had met!”

“It is very natural that you should,” responded the perfect wife. “But don’t let us talk about it any more until you have had time to weigh the matter in your mind! Mrs Wardlow asked me this morning if she should instruct the chef to send up baked eggs for our nuncheon, and, knowing how partial you are to baked eggs, I said it was the very thing. So let us go down to the breakfast-parlour now, before the eggs grow cold!”

Sir Geoffrey got up, but before he had reached the door stopped in his tracks like a jibbing horse, and said: “Is Maria there? Because if she is nothing would prevail upon me—”

“No, no, dearest!” Lady Wychwood hastened to assure him. “Mrs Wardlow and I have put her to bed, and I have compelled her to drink a glass of laudanum and water, as a sedative, you understand. She fell into a fit of the vapours when you went up to see Annis, and what it was that you said to her to overset her so completely, I haven’t a notion, for you cannot possibly have accused her of being inebriated, which is what she said you did! But I am sorry to say that when Maria becomes hysterical, one cannot place the least dependence on the ridiculous things she says. She even said that Mr Carleton offered her violence!”

“No, did he?” exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, brightening perceptibly. “Well, damme if I don’t think he’s not by half as black as he’s been painted! But mind this, Amabel! I may not have the power to stop him marrying my sister, but if he thinks he’s going to foist Maria on to us, he will very soon learn that he is mistaken! And so I shall tell him!”

“Yes, dearest,” said Lady Wychwood, gently propelling him towards the door. “You will of course do what you think is right, but do, pray, come and eat your baked egg before it is quite spoilt!”