“You know what, Almeria?” interrupted Mr. Theale, a look of profound concentration on his florid countenance. “I believe she had a tendre for him!”

Lady Widmore stared at him in contempt and suspicion. “I suppose you are top-heavy,” she remarked.

Not for the first time, Mr. Theale wondered what had possessed his nephew to marry this coarse-tongued and unattractive female. “No, I’m not,” he said shortly.

“Oh, beg pardon! But what made you say such a daffish thing, if it wasn’t brandy?”

“It ain’t daffish, but I daresay it may seem so to you. There isn’t one of you here who can see what’s dashed well under your noses. It occurred to me when I saw Hester look at Ludlow.”

“I’ll swear she has never given the least sign of such a thing!” she said incredulously “What the deuce can you possibly mean?”

“Just a certain look in her eye,” said Mr. Theale knowledgeably. “No use asking me to explain it, because I can’t, but I’d lay you odds she’d have had him if he hadn’t walked in with that little ladybird on his arm.”

“I could wring her neck!” exclaimed Lady Widmore, her cheeks reddening angrily.

“No need to do that: I’m going to take her off your hands first thing in the morning. To those relations at Oundle,” he added, with another of his vulgar winks.

She regarded him with great fixity. “Will she go with you?”

“Lord, yes! Do anything to get away from Ludlow. The silly fellow seems to have frightened her, poor little soul.”

“She! I never saw anyone less frightened in my life!”

“Well, it don’t signify. The point is, I’m going to take her away. Ludlow will be obliged to put a good face on it, and I shouldn’t be surprised if once Amanda is out of his eye he’ll see what a cake he’s been making of himself, and try Hester again.”

“If he can be persuaded to remain here,” she said “Does he know?”

“Of course he doesn’t! Doesn’t even know I’m leaving tomorrow. I stayed behind after he’d gone up to bed, and told my brother I meant to be off early, and would carry Miss Smith to Oundle.”

“What did he say?”

“Didn’t say anything, but I could see the notion took very well with him. If you want to be helpful, you’ll see to it no one hinders the child from joining me in the morning. I’ve ordered the carriage for seven o’clock. Breakfast in Huntingdon.”

“I’ll tell Povey!” said Lady Widmore, a scheming light in her eye. “My woman has been saying that she’s as mad as fire with that chit, for coming here and spoiling Hester’s chances. Would you believe Hester could be such a ninny?—She has invited the wretched wench to remain here for a week! You may lay your life Povey will take care no one stops her from going with you. I suppose there’s no fear Ludlow will go after you?”

“Lord, you’re as bad as Amanda!” said Mr. Theale impatiently. “Of course there’s no fear of it! He’d have to tell the truth about her if he did that, and that’s the last thin he’s likely to do.”

“Well, I hope you may be right. At all events, it will do no harm if Povey tells Hester the girl’s still abed and asleep at breakfast-time. I wouldn’t put it beyond Hester to send Ludlow after her!”

“What the devil should she do that for?” demanded Mr. Theale. “She’ll think I’m taking the girl to her relations!”

“I’ll do my best to make her think that,” retorted Lady Widmore grimly, “but ninny though she may be, she knows you, Fabian!”

He was not in the least offended by this insult, but went chuckling off to bed, where, like Amanda, he enjoyed an excellent night’s repose.

They were almost the only members of the party to do so. Not until the small hours crept in did sleep put an end to Lady Hester’s unhappy reflections; her father lay awake, first dwelling on her shortcomings, then blaming Sir Gareth for her undutiful conduct, and lastly arguing himself into the conviction that it formed no part of his duty to interfere with whatever plan Fabian had formed; Lady Widmore was troubled by bad dreams; and her husband, as she had prophesied, succumbed to an attack of acute dyspepsia, which caused him to remain in bed on the following day, sustaining nature with toast and thin gruel, and desiring his wife not—unless she wished to bring on his pains again—to mention his sister’s name within his hearing.

Lady Widmore was the first person to put in an appearance at the breakfast-table. She, alone amongst the family, had attended the service Mr. Whyteleafe held daily in the little private chapel. The Earl was always an infrequent worshipper, but it was rarely that Lady Hester rose too late to take part in the morning service. This morning, however, she had been an absentee. Sir Gareth, confidentially informed overnight by his host that the chaplain was employed for the edification of the servants and the ladies of of the family, had not felt it to be incumbent upon him to attend either; but he was the second person to enter the breakfast-parlour.

Lady Widmore, after bidding him a bluff good-morning, told him bluntly that she was sorry his suit had not prospered.

“Thank you: I too am sorry,” replied Sir Gareth calmly.

“Well, if I were you I wouldn’t give up hope,” said her ladyship. “The mischief is that Hester’s the shyest thing in nature, you know.”

“I do know it,” said Sir Gareth unencouragingly.

“Give her time, and I dare swear shell come round!” she perserved.

“Do you mean, ma’am, that she might be scolded into accepting me?” he asked. “I trust that no one will make the attempt, for however much I must hope that her answer to me last night was not final, I most certainly don’t wish for a wife who accepted me only to escape from the recriminations of her relatives.”

“Well, upon my word!” ejaculated Lady Widmore, her colour rising.

“I know that your ladyship is an advocate of plain speaking,” said Sir Gareth sweetly.

“Ay, very true!” she retorted. “So I will make bold to tell you, sir, that it’s your own fault that this business has come to nothing!”

He looked coolly at her, a hint of steel in his eyes. “Believe me, ma’am,” he said, “though you may be labouring under a misapprehension as little flattering to yourself as it is to me, Lady Hester is not!”

Fortunately, since her temper was hasty, the Earl came in just then, with his chaplain at his heels; and by the time he had greeted his guest, with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, and had expressed the conventional hope that he had slept well, she had recollected the unwisdom of quarrelling with Sir Gareth, and managed, though not without a severe struggle with herself, to swallow her spleen, and to call upon her father-in-law to persuade Sir Gareth not to curtail his visit to Brancaster.

The Earl, while responding with a fair assumption of enthusiasm, privately considered that it would be useless for Sir Gareth to linger under his roof. His daughter, he had decided, was destined to remain a spinster all her days; and he had formed the intention, while shaving, of putting the whole matter out of his mind, and losing no time in repairing to the more congenial locality of Brighton. He had been prepared to perform his duties as a host and a father while Hester mooned about the gardens with her affianced husband, but if this very easy way of entertaining Sir Gareth failed, as fail it assuredly must, he wondered what the devil he was to do with the fellow for a whole week in the middle of July.

“Thank you, sir, you are very good, but I fear it is not in my power to remain,” replied Sir Gareth. “I must convey my charge to Oundle—or even, perhaps, back to her parents.”

“Oh, there is not the smallest need for you to put yourself about!” struck in Lady Widmore. “Fabian was saying to me last night that he would be pleased to take her up in his carriage as far as to Oundle, for he goes to Melton today, you know, and it will not carry him far out of his way.”

“I am very much obliged to him, but must not trespass upon his good-nature,” replied Sir Gareth a note of finality in his voice.

“No such thing!” said Lady Widmore robustly. “It can make no difference to Fabian, and I am sure I know not why you should be dancing attendance upon a schoolgirl, Sir Gareth!”

There was a challenge in her eye, but before Sir Gareth could meet it, Mr. Whyteleafe said with precision: “I must venture to inform your ladyship of a circumstance which cannot but preclude Mr. Theale’s being able to offer his services to Miss Smith. Mr. Theale’s travelling carriage, closely followed by the coach containing his baggage, passed beneath my window at fourteen minutes past seven o’clock exactly. I am able, I should explain, to speak with certainty on this point because it so chanced that, being desirous of knowing the hour, I was at that instant in the act of consulting my watch.”

The Earl had never liked his chaplain, but he had not hitherto considered him actively malevolent. He now perceived that he had been cherishing a viper. Sir Gareth was of course bound to discover the truth, but it had been his lordship’s intention to have taken good care that he should not do so in his presence. The more he had considered the matter, the stronger had become his conviction that the disclosure would lead to an awkward scene, and the avoidance of awkward scenes was one of the guiding principles of his life. In an attempt to gloss over the perilous moment, he said: “Yes, yes, now you put me in mind of it, I recall that my brother said he rather thought he should make an early start. Doesn’t like travelling in the heat of the day,” he added, addressing himself to Sir Gareth.

The door opened, and Lady Hester came into the room. Sir Gareth, as he rose to his feet, pushing back his chair, saw with concern that she was looking pale, and rather heavy-eyed.

“Good-morning,” she said, in her soft voice. “I am afraid I am shockingly late this morning, and as for Miss Smith, my woman tells me that she is still asleep.”

“Lady Hester, have you yourself seen Amanda?” Sir Gareth asked abruptly.

She shook her head, looking enquiringly at him. “No, I didn’t wish to disturb her. Ought I to have? Oh, dear, you don’t think she can have—?”

“Yes, I do think that she can have,” said Sir Gareth. “I have just learnt that your uncle left Brancaster two hours ago, and nothing appears to be more likely than that he took Amanda with him.”

“Well, what if he did?” demanded Lady Widmore. “Very obliging of him, I should call it, and nothing to make a piece of work about! To be sure, it is excessively uncivil of her to have gone off without bidding anyone goodbye, but I, for one, am not amazed.”

“I will go up to her room immediately,” Lady Hester said, ignoring her sister-in-law.

She found Amanda’s bedchamber untenanted. A note addressed to herself lay on the dressing-table. As she was reading the few lines of apology and explanation, Povey came in, checking at sight of her, and saying in some confusion: “I beg pardon, my lady! I was just coming to see if Miss was awake!”

“You knew, Povey, when you told me that Miss Smith was asleep, that she had left the house,” said Hester quietly. “No, do not try to answer me! You have done very wrong. I don’t wish to talk to you. Indeed, I don’t feel that I shall be able to forgive you.”

Povey instantly burst into tears, but to her startled dismay her tenderhearted mistress seemed quite unmoved, leaving the room without so much as another glance thrown in her direction.

Lady Hester found Sir Gareth awaiting her at the foot of the stairs. She put Amanda’s note into his hand, saying remorsefully: “It is just as you suspected. I have been dreadfully to blame!”

“You! No, indeed!” he returned, running his eye over the note. “Well, she doesn’t tell you so, but I imagine there is no doubt she went away with your uncle.” He gave the note back to her, saying, as he saw her face of distress: “My dear, don’t look so stricken! There is not so very much harm done, after all. I own, I wish I knew where Theale is taking her, but I daresay they will not be difficult to trace.”

“It is quite shameful of Fabian!” she said, in a tone of deep mortification.

He replied lightly: “For anything we yet know she may have prevailed upon him to take her to Oundle, where, I don’t doubt, she will try to give him the slip.”

“You say that to make me feel more comfortable, but pray don’t!” she said. “There can be no excuse for his conduct, and the dreadful thing is that there never is! Even if she made him think she indeed had relations at Oundle, he cannot have thought it proper to remove her from Brancaster in such a way. And I very much fear that he has not taken her to Oundle. In fact, it would be much more like him to carry her off to his hunting-box, which I should have no hesitation in saying is what he has done, only that he must know that is the first place where you would look for her.”