“She sounds a very odd sort of a woman,” said Lady Ombersley disapprovingly. “And why does she live in Merton?”

“Oh, Sir Horace hired the prettiest villa for her there! She means to live retired until he comes back to England. That,” said Sophy, with a gurgle of mirth, “is because she is excessively idle. She will lie in bed until the morning is half gone, eat a great many sweetmeats, read a great many novels, and be perfectly pleased to see any of her friends who will give themselves the trouble of driving out to visit her. Sir Horace says she is the most restful female of his acquaintance.” She bent to stroke her little dog, which had all the time been sitting at her feet. “Except Tina here, of course! Dear ma’am, I hope you do not dislike dogs? She is very good, I promise you, and I could not part with her!”

Lady Ombersley assured her that she had no objection to dogs, but was by no means partial to monkeys. Sophy laughed, and said, “Oh, dear! Was it wrong of me to bring him for the children? Only when I saw him, in Bristol, he seemed to me to be just the thing! And now that I have given him to them, I daresay it will be difficult to persuade them to give him up.”

Lady Ombersley rather thought that it would be impossible, and as there did not seem to be anything more to be said on that subject, and she was feeling quite bemused by her niece’s various disclosures, she suggested that Cecilia should escort Sophy up to her room, where she would no doubt like to rest for awhile before changing her dress for dinner.

Cecilia rose with alacrity, ready to add her persuasions to her mother’s if it should be necessary. She did not suppose that Sophy wished to rest, for the little she had seen of her cousin had been enough to convince her that a creature so full of vitality rarely stood in need of rest. But she felt herself strongly drawn to Sophy and was anxious to make a friend of her as soon as possible. So when it was discovered that Sophy’s maid was unpacking her trunks in her bedchamber, she begged Sophy to come to her own room for a chat. Selina, finding that she was not to be admitted to this tête-à-tête, pouted, but went off, deriving consolation from the reflection that to her would fall the agreeable task of describing to Miss Adderbury every detail of Sophy’s conversation in the Blue Saloon.

Cecilia’s disposition was shy, and although her manners lacked the forbidding reserve which distinguished those of her elder brother, they were never confiding. Yet within a very few minutes she found herself pouring into her cousin’s ears some at least of the evils of her situation. Sophy listened to her with interest and sympathy, but the constant recurrence of Mr. Rivenhall’s name seemed to puzzle her, and she presently interrupted to say, “I beg your pardon, but this Charles — is he not your brother?”

“My eldest brother,” said Cecilia.

“Well, that is what I collected. But what has he to say to anything?”

Cecilia sighed. “You will soon discover, Sophy, that nothing may be done in this house without Charles’s sanction. It is he who orders everything, arranges everything, and rules everything!”

“Now, let me understand this!” said Sophy. “My uncle has not died, has he? I am sure Sir Horace never told me so!”

“Oh, no! But Papa — I should not be talking about him, and of course I don’t know precisely — but I think poor Papa found himself in difficulties! In fact, I know it was so, for I found my mother in great distress once, and she told me a little, because she was so distracted she hardly knew what she was doing. In general, she would never say a word about Papa to any of us — except Charles, I suppose, and I daresay Maria, now that she is a married lady. Only then my great-uncle Matthew died, and he left all his fortune to Charles, and I don’t understand exactly how it was, but I believe Charles did something with mortgages. Whatever it was, it seems to have placed poor Papa quite in his power. And I am very certain that it is Charles who pays for Hubert and Theodore, besides settling all the debts, for that Mama did tell me.”

“Dear me, how very uncomfortable it must be for your Papa! remarked Sophy. “My cousin Charles sounds a most disagreeable creature!”

“He is quite odious!” said Cecilia. “I sometimes think he takes a delight in making everyone miserable, for I am sure he grudges us the least pleasure, and is only anxious to marry us to respectable men with large fortunes, who are quite middle-aged, and sober, and can do nothing but catch the mumps!”

Since Sophy was far too intelligent to suppose that this embittered speech was a mere generalization, she at once pressed Cecilia to tell her more about the respectable man with mumps, and after a little hesitation, and a good deal of circumlocution, Cecilia not only divulged that a marriage between herself and Lord Charlbury had been arranged (though not as yet announced), but favored her with a word picture of the Honorable Augustus Fawnhope which must have seemed like the ravings of delirium to anyone who had not been privileged to behold that beautiful young man. But Sophy had already met Mr. Fawnhope, and instead of coaxing her cousin to lie down upon her bed with a cooling draught, she said in the most matter-of-fact way, “Yes, very true. I have never seen Lord Byron, but they tell me that he is nothing to Mr. Fawnhope. He is quite the most handsome man I think I ever saw.”

“You know Augustus!” Cecilia breathed, clasping her hands at her palpitating bosom.

“Yes — that is to say, I am acquainted with him. I fancy I danced with him once or twice at the balls in Brussels last year. Was he not attached to Sir Charles Stuart in some capacity or another?”

“One of his secretaries, but Augustus is a poet, and of course he has no head for business, or affairs, which is a circumstance that disgusts Charles more than all the rest, I believe! Oh, Sophy, when we met — it was at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, and I was wearing a gown of palest blue satin, embroidered all over with silken rosebuds, and knots of silver twist — we no sooner saw each other than — he has assured me that it was the same with him! How could I suppose that there would be the least objection? The Fawnhopes, you know! I daresay they have been here since the Conquest, or some such thing! If I do not care a button for such things as fortunes or titles, what concern is it of Charles’s?”

“None at all,” said Sophy briskly. “Dear Cecilia, don’t cry, I beg of you! Only tell me this! Does your mama dislike the notion of your marrying Mr. Fawnhope?”

“Dearest Mama has such sensibility that I know she must feel for me!” declared Cecilia, obediently drying her eyes. “She has as good as told me so, but she dare not withstand Charles! That, Sophy, is what governs all in this house!”

“Sir Horace is always right!” declared Sophy, rising, and shaking out her skirts. “I teased him to take me to Brazil, you know, because, to own the truth, I could not imagine how I should contrive to occupy myself in London, with nothing to do but amuse myself in my aunt’s house! He assured me that I should find something to be busy with, and you see that he had gauged the matter exactly! I wonder if he knew of all this? My dear Cecilia — oh, may I call you Cecy instead? Cecilia! Such a mouthful! Only trust me! You have fallen into a fit of despondency, and there is not the least need! In fact, nothing could be more fatal, in any predicament! It encourages one to suppose that there is nothing to be done, when a little resolution is all that is wanted to bring matters to a happy conclusion. I must go to my room, and dress for dinner, or I shall be late, and there is nothing more odious than a guest who comes late to meals!”

“But, Sophy, what can you possibly mean?” gasped Cecilia. “What can you do to help me?”

“I have not the least notion, but I daresay a hundred things. Everything you have told me shows me that you are fallen, all of you, into a shocking state of melancholy! Your brother! Good gracious, what were you about to let him grow into such a tyrant? Why, I would not permit even Sir Horace to become so dictatorial, which is a thing the best of men will do, if the females of their families are so foolish as to encourage them! It is not at all good for them, besides making them such dead bores! Is Charles a dead bore? I am sure he must be! Never mind! If he has a fancy for making eligible matches he shall look about him for a husband for me, and that will divert his mind. Cecy, do come with me to my bedroom! Sir Horace desired me to choose mantillas for you and my aunt, and I daresay Jane will have unpacked them by now. How clever it was of me to have selected a white one for you! I am by far too brown-complexioned to wear white, but you will look enchantingly in it!”

She then swept Cecilia off to her own room, where she found the mantillas, carefully wrapped in silver paper, one of which she instantly carried to Lady Ombersley’s dressing room, declaring that Sir Horace had charged her to present it, with his love, to his dear sister. Lady Ombersley was delighted with the mantilla, a particularly handsome black one; and much touched (as she afterward told Cecilia) by the message that went with it, not one word of which did she believe, but which showed, she said, such thoughtful delicacy in her niece.

By the time Sophy had changed her traveling dress for an evening gown of pale green crape, festooned at the bottom with rich silk trimmings, and confined at the waist with a cord and tassels, Cecilia had completed her own toilet, and was waiting to escort her downstairs to the drawing room. Sophy was trying to clasp a necklace of pearls round her throat while the gaunt maid, adjuring her not to be so fidgety, was equally determined to button up the cuffs of her long, full sleeves. Cecilia, tastefully but not strikingly attired in sprigged muslin, with a blue sash, supposed enviously that Sophy had had her gown made in Paris. She was quite right; nearly all Sophy’s dresses came from Paris.

“One consolation,” said Cecilia naively, “is that Eugenia will dislike it excessively!”

“Good gracious, who is Eugenia?” exclaimed Sophy, wheeling round upon her dressing stool. “Why should she dislike it? I don’t think it ugly, do you?”

“Miss Sophy, drat you, will you sit still?” interpolated Jane Storridge, giving her a shake.

“No, of course I do not!” responded Cecilia. “But Eugenia never wears modish gowns. She says there are more important things to think of than one’s dresses.”

“What a stupid thing to say!” remarked Sophy. “Naturally there are, but not, I hold, when one is dressing for dinner. Who is she?”

“Miss Wraxton. Charles is betrothed to her, and Mama sent to warn me a few minutes ago that she is dining here tonight. We had all of us forgotten it in the bustle of your arrival. I daresay she will be in the drawing room already, for she is always very punctual. Are you ready? Shall we go down?”

“If only my dear Jane would bestir herself a little!” Sophy said, giving up her other wrist to her maid and casting a roguish look into Miss Storridge’s disapproving face.

The maid smiled rather grimly, but said nothing. She did up the tiny buttons, draped a gold-embroidered scarf over her mistress’s elbows, and gave a little nod of approval. Sophy bent and kissed her cheek, saying, “Thank you! Go to bed, and don’t think I will let you undress me, for I assure you I will not! Good night, Jane dear!”

Cecilia, a good deal astonished, said as they descended the stairs together, “I suppose she has been with you a long time? I fear Mama would stare to see you kiss your maid!”

Sophy lifted her brows at this. “Indeed? Jane was my mother’s maid, and my own kind nurse when my mother died. I hope I may do nothing worse to make my aunt stare.”

“Oh! Of course she would perfectly understand the circumstances!” Cecilia said hastily. “Only it looked so odd, you know!”

A decided sparkle in her cousin’s find eyes seemed to indicate that she did not much relish this criticism of her conduct, but as they had by this time reached the drawing-room door she did not say anything, but allowed herself to be ushered into the room.

Lady Ombersley, her two elder sons, and Miss Wraxton were seated in a group about the fire. All looked round at the opening of the door, and the two gentlemen rose to their feet, Hubert gazing at his cousin in frank admiration, Charles looking her over critically.

“Come in, dear Sophy!” Lady Ombersley said, in a welcoming tone. “You see that I am wearing the beautiful mantilla instead of a shawl! Such exquisite lace! Miss Wraxton has been much admiring it. You will let me introduce Miss Stanton-Lacy to you, my dear Eugenia. Cecilia will have told you, Sophy, that we are soon to have the joy of counting Miss Wraxton one of the family.”