'Oh, no! Your nose is indifferent, and your mouth a trifle too large, and your hair, though it grows prettily, is an unremarkable brown.'
She broke into laughter. 'I acquit you!'
'So I should hope! I might have added that you had also courage, but I doubt it.'
She fired up at that. 'Then you are mistaken! I collect that's a jibe, because I hesitated to accept your invitation! Very well, I will go to the play with you!'
'Good girl!' he said approvingly. 'Pluck to the backbone! But I won't take you if you really feel that it would damage your reputation.'
'No,' she said, in a resolute tone. 'Not at my age!'
'Just what I was th
inking myself,' he agreed.
She looked sharply at him, but he was perfectly grave. 'Would it be proper for you to dine with me first, at York House?' he asked.
'Thank you, but I should prefer you to dine in Sydney Place,' she replied. 'My sister will be very happy to further her acquaintance with you.'
He bowed a meek acceptance, and, as they had by this time reached their goal, which was the monument erected to the memory of one Sir Basil Grenville, killed in the Civil Wars, their conversation came to an end.
Nor was it resumed; for after the remains of a Saxon fortification, situated near by, had been shown to the Calverleighs, one of whom affected a civil but artificial interest in it, and the other no interest at all, it was judged to be time to turn home ward; and upon the return journey the party split up into a different order, Mr Stacy Calverleigh contriving that Abby should ride with him instead of with his uncle.
'Do, pray, allow me to be your escort, ma'am!' he said. 'I have been seeking an opportunity to talk to you, and – I hope – to better my acquaintance with you.'
'By all means,' she answered, in a cool voice. 'What is it you wish to say to me, sir?'
He bestowed his flashing smile upon her. 'Ah, you know what I wish to say! And I, alas, know that I am addressing myself to an ear little inclined to listen to me!'
'If you mean to address yourself to me in rehearsed periods, you are perfectly right!' she told him. 'Without roundaboutation, you wish to obtain my consent to Fanny's becoming engaged to you. I am afraid you haven't understood the case: Fanny isn't my ward, but my brother's. You must apply to him, not to me. In fact,' she added thoughtfully, 'you should have done so before making Fanny an offer. To form a connection with a girl of seventeen without the knowledge of her guardian is really not at all the thing, you know.'
He looked a little discomposed. 'Had I known – I thought, at first, that she was Miss Wendover's ward! Naturally, if I had known –'
'Then what prevented you from asking my sister's permission before you declared yourself to Fanny?' asked Abby, in an interested voice.
He bit his lip. 'I should have done so, of course, but I had no reason to suppose – that is to say, I believed she was aware – did not look upon my suit with disfavour! Then, too, conscious as I am of my unworthiness I did not intend – Ah, Miss Abby, you don't understand! You make no allowance for the violence of my feelings, which, I confess, carried me beyond the bounds of propriety!'
'No, I don't think I do,' agreed Abby.
He shot a challenging look at her, which she met with a faint bland smile. 'From the moment I saw her I was lost!' he said dramatically. 'Oh, I have fancied myself in love before, many times – you see, I don't attempt to deceive you, ma'am! – but when I met Fanny I knew that it had never been more than fancy, and bitterly did I regret the past – all my follies and indiscretions! Yes, and determined to become worthy of that beautiful angel!'
'Well, you have plenty of time to achieve your ambition,' said Abby cordially. 'There is no saying but what, if you were to succeed, my brother might look more kindly upon you, when Fanny reaches her majority.'
'Four years! Miss Abby, neither she nor I could endure it! We hoped – Fanny was fully persuaded that you – her favourite aunt, as she calls you! – would stand our friend! Your support must weigh with Mr Wendover!'
'My dear sir, if I were to lend my support to such an unsuitable and improvident marriage, Mr Wendover would suppose me to have run mad, and would be more likely to have me placed under restraint. And I must say that I shouldn't blame him!'
'Improvident!' he exclaimed, catching at the word. 'Ay, that is the obstacle! Believe me, I feel it as keenly as you do! My inheritance was wasted before I came into it, and when I tell you that my father died before I was of age you may judge how unripe I was, how little able to restore what had been squandered! I hope I am wiser now.'
'I am sure,' said Abby politely, 'that all your friends must share that hope. I fear, however, that my brother will require some rather more solid proof.'
Nettled, he said: 'You misunderstand me, ma'am! When I spoke of my inheritance having been wasted, I did not mean that I am reduced to penury! Between my fortune and Fanny's I fear there may be disparity, but although my lands are not in such good heart as I could wish they are extensive, and I am, after all, the head of my family! There have been Calverleighs at Danescourt since I don't know when!'
'Since the Conquest,' she supplied, with a reminiscent chuckle. 'According to your uncle, the founder of your house was in all probability one of the – the thatchgallows in the Conqueror's train.'
'My uncle is fond of cutting jokes,' he replied, with a forced smile. 'Even Mr James Wendover can scarcely find fault with my lineage! As for fortune, I don't know what Fanny's may be, nor do I care – except that if it is to form an insuperable barrier between us I wish it at Jericho!'
'Well, for the next eight years it might as well be,' she said prosaically. 'It was left to my brother to be held in trust for Fanny until she reaches the age of five-and-twenty, you know.'