Black Sheep

'Five-and-twenty!' he ejaculated, the smile wiped suddenly from his lips. He recovered himself in a flash, saying: 'I didn't know it, and am agreeably surprised. Under those circumstances I must surely escape the stigma of being thought a fortunehunter.'

This seemed to her so disingenuous that she was too much disgusted to answer him. She rode on at a quickened pace, so that the rest of the party was soon overtaken, and Stacy was obliged to bring his confidences to an end.

Whatever discomfiture he might feel, no sign of it was to be detected, either in his face or in his manner. He seemed, rather, to be in spirits, full of liveliness and wit, keeping Lavinia in giggles, and causing Fanny to ask her aunt, when they rode down Great Pulteney Street together, if she did not find him as charming as he was handsome.

'Why, as to that – he has agreeable manners, but – do you think him charming, Fanny?' said Abby, on a note of surprise.

'Good gracious, Abby, everyone does so!' Fanny cried.

'Oh!'

Ruffled, Fanny said: 'This must be prejudice! Pray, what fault do you find in him?'

Abby smiled. 'If I were to tell you, love, you would be ready to pull caps with me!'

'Yes – if you said what I believe to be in your mind! You think him a fortune-hunter, don't you?' She waited for a moment, but as Abby said nothing, continued hotly: 'It is false, and – and unworthy of you, Abby! I beg your pardon, but I won't allow you to abuse him! He didn't know about my fortune when he fell in love with me, and later, when he learned of it from some odious tattle-box, he was utterly cast down – talked of his presumption, said his case was hopeless, and that he would never, never have approached me if he had known the truth! Such stuff ! I verily believe he would have gone away if I hadn't been able to tell him that it will be four whole years before I have a penny more than the pin-money my uncle doles out to me!'

'I am afraid you misled him a little, dearest, and that the blame rests on my shoulders,' said Abby apologetically. 'I thought you knew – at least, that's what I should have supposed, had I thought about it all. I'm ashamed to say that I didn't. My excuse is that we have never discussed money-matters, have we? You won't come into possession of your fortune until you are five-and-twenty.'

Fanny looked very much taken aback, and exclaimed heatedly: 'You don't mean it! Well, of all the shabby things to do – ! Why, already I need more than my uncle gives me, and I shall need much more when I go to London for my come-out!'

'Of course you will!' agreed Abby, considerably heartened by this naïve speech. 'Your uncle knows that – indeed, we had some discussion about it when I was in London. You won't find him ungenerous, I promise you. He wishes you to present what he calls a creditable appearance!'

'Not ungenerous if I am meek and obedient! But if I don't submit to his tyranny – what then?'

'Really, Fanny!' Abby protested. 'What cause have you ever had to talk of his tyranny?'

> 'None – yet! But if he tries to part me from Stacy it will be tyranny! And I'll tell you this, Abby! – I don't care a rush for my hateful fortune, or even if my uncle cuts off my allowance, and Stacy won't care either! No, and I don't care if I don't go to London – not a bit!'

'I wish you will not talk in that skimble-skamble style!' said Abby, with asperity. 'Anyone would take you for a perfect zero! Do you, in all seriousness, expect your uncle to allow you to be married out of the schoolroom?'

'He would, if Stacy were wealthy, and were an Earl, or some such thing!' said Fanny, on an angry sob.

'Oh, no, he would not!' replied Abby. 'He would have me to reckon with! Do, for heaven's sake, try for a little commonsense, child! You have tumbled into love, and you believe it to be a lasting attachment – '

'I know it is!' Fanny declared passionately.

'Very well! It may be as you say, and if it should prove to be so you may rest assured of my support. Young Calverleigh has told me that he means to become worthy of you, and if he succeeds in reforming his way of life –'

'He has done so!'

'In that case, I see no reason at all for you to fall into affliction. Neither your uncle nor I are monsters of cruelty, and if, when you have seen a little of the world, you still prefer Calverleigh to all the other men you will meet, and he shows himself to be equally constant, we shall not oppose the marriage.'

'What, wait for nearly a whole year?' cried Fanny, aghast. 'Oh, no, no, no! If you had ever been in love you could not be so heartless!'

'I see nothing very heartless in wishing you to enjoy at least one London season before you embark on eight years of poverty,' said Abby dryly.

'That isn't what you wish!' Fanny said, her voice trembling. 'You wish to take me away from my beloved Stacy! I know just how it would be if I consented! You, and my Aunt Mary, would take good care n-never to let me so m-much as see him! I daresay you think I should soon forget him, but I shan't! Oh, Abby, Abby, I thought you loved me!'

'You know very well that I do.'

But Fanny, swallowing her tears, shook her head, and rode on in silence.

Meanwhile, Stacy, having begged for the honour of entertaining his uncle to dinner that evening, was taking great pains to order such dishes and wines as would be most likely to put Mr Miles Calverleigh in a mellow mood. Having scrutinised the bill of fare, and bored the waiter by changing his mind three times, he decided at last in favour of a soup, to be removed with a loin of veal, and followed by partridges, accompanied by broiled mushrooms and French beans, with a dressed crab, fat livers in cases, and some artichoke bottoms in sauce, as sidedishes. This elegant repast was served in his private parlour, and although Miles, a sparing eater, could not have been said to do full justice to it, toying with the veal, and refusing the crab and the livers, he ate two partridges, and raised no demur at having his glass constantly refilled.

Until the covers were removed, and a bottle of brandy set upon the table, Stacy confined his conversation to everyday chit-chat, which consisted largely of anecdotes of ton, and the latest titbits of London scandal, but when the waiter left the parlour Miles Calverleigh, pushing his chair back, and stretching his legs out before him, one ankle crossed over the other, yawned, and said: 'Cut line, nevvy! You didn't invite me here to regale me with on-dits. What do you want of me?'

'Good God, sir, nothing! Why, what should I want?'