Cotillion

Miss Charing accepted a half-filled glass, and sipped cautiously. The pungency of the spirit was inclined to catch the back of her throat, but the sweetness and the unmistakable tang of lemon-juice reassured her. ‘I like it,’ she said.

‘Yes, but don’t go telling my uncle, or the Fish, that you’ve been drinking punch with me,’ he warned her.

She assured him that she would not; and since she was now quite warm, and was finding the settle uncomfortable, joined him at the table, and sat there, sipping her punch, and brooding over her unhappy circumstances. Freddy, who was grappling with thoughts of his own, rather absent-mindedly refilled both glasses. A frown began to gather on his brow. He broke the silence by demanding suddenly: ‘Who’ll inherit the ready if you don’t marry one of us, Kit?’

‘Uncle Matthew says he shall leave it to the Foundling Hospital,’ replied Kitty. ‘All of it!’

‘He does, does he? Seems to me Dolph ain’t the only one who’s queer in his attic!’ said Mr Standen. He stared fixedly at the play of the candlelight on the gold liquid in his glass. ‘Wonder if Jack knows that?’ he said, in a ruminative tone.

‘You may depend upon it that he does, for I am sure Uncle Matthew would not tell George and Hugh more than he has told Jack. And I am excessively happy to think that it has not weighed with him!’

‘Wonder if he’s playing a deep game?’ said Mr Standen, pursuing his own meditations. ‘No saying what might be in his head: a curst rum touch, Jack! Shouldn’t have thought he’d whistle a fortune down the wind, though. Rather fancy he counted the old gentleman’s rolls of soft his own. Never knew such a fellow for wasting the ready! Played wily beguiled with his own fortune.’ He encountered a startled look of enquiry from Miss Charing, and added succinctly: ‘Gamester. Tulip of the Turf. Seems to have come off all right so far, but m’father says he’ll end under the hatches. Very downy one, m’father!’ He dwelt for a moment on the percipience of Lord Legerwood, while Miss Charing eyed him with hostility. Refreshing himself with some more punch, he said: ‘May be shamming it. Don’t care to have his hand forced. Must know you wouldn’t take Dolph or Hugh. Must know I ain’t hanging out for a rich wife. Means to steer the old gentleman to Point Non-Plus.’ He drained his glass, and set it down. Still more profound thoughts deepened the frown on his brow. ‘Same time—may have come about again. Fresh as ever. Don’t need the ready. Don’t want to be married. Drop the handkerchief when he chooses.’

‘Drop—Drop—?’ stammered Kitty. ‘Do you mean—he thinks I w-would pick it up w-whenever—Oh!’

Much confused, Mr Standen begged pardon. ‘Thinking to myself!’ he explained.

She paid no heed to this, but said fiercely: ‘Do you mean that?’

‘No, no! That is—couldn’t blame him, Kit! Handsome phiz, you know—devil of a Corinthian—never at a stand! Daresay you don’t know it, but the fact is any number of caps set at him! High-fliers, too. Queer creatures, females,’ mused Mr Standen, shaking his head. ‘Fellow’s only got to be a rake to have ’em all dangling after him. Silly, really, because it stands to reason—Well, never mind that!’

‘Good gracious, Freddy, as though I was not well-aware that Jack is a shocking fli

rt!’ said Kitty untruthfully, but with spirit. ‘I have not the least doubt that he flirts with all the prettiest ladies in London! Which makes it so particularly stupid and—and diverting of Uncle Matthew to suppose that he wished to offer for me! Indeed, I can’t imagine why anyone should think he would do so. I should be astonished to learn that he regards me as anything other than a dowdy schoolgirl!’

‘Yes, I should be too,’ agreed the Job’s comforter on the other side of the table.

Miss Charing swallowed another mouthful of punch. A gentle glow was spreading through her veins, dispelling the melancholy which had possessed her. It would have been too much to have said that she was restored to happiness, but she no longer despaired. A certain exhilaration infused her brain, which seemed all at once to be able quite easily to master difficulties that, a few minutes before, had appeared so insoluble. She sat bolt upright in her chair, staring straight ahead, the fingers of one hand tightening unconsciously round her tumbler. Mr Standen, glad to be left in peace to wrestle with the second of the problems confronting him, meditatively rubbed the rim of his quizzing-glass up and down the bridge of his nose.

‘Freddy!’ said Miss Charing suddenly, turning her expressive eyes towards him.

He gave a slight start, and let his quizzing-glass fall. ‘Thinking of something else!’ he excused himself.

‘Freddy, you are quite sure you don’t want to marry me, aren’t you?’

He looked a little alarmed, for she spoke with a degree of urgency which made him feel uneasy. ‘Yes,’ he said. He added apologetically: ‘Very fond of you, Kit, always was! Thing is, not a marrying man!’

‘Then, Freddy, will you be so very obliging as to be betrothed to me?’ said Miss Charing breathlessly.

Four

For a stunned moment Mr Standen stared into the dark eyes fixed so beseechingly on his face. His horrified gaze, wavering, fell upon the tumbler, still clasped in Miss Charing’s hand. A certain measure of relief entered his face; he removed the half-empty glass, and set it down safely out of Miss Charing’s reach. ‘Ought never to have given it to you!’ he said, in self-accusatory tones.

‘No, no, Freddy, indeed I’m not inebriated!’

‘Lord, no, Kit! Nothing of that sort! Just a little bit on the go! Call for some coffee! Soon set you to rights!’

‘I don’t want it! I am quite sober, I promise you! Oh, Freddy, please listen to me!’

Mr Standen, however undistinguished a scholar, was at home to a peg in all matters of social usage. He knew well that it was useless to expostulate with persons rather up in the world. Miss Charing had stretched out an impulsive hand, and was clutching the sleeve of his coat in a way that could not but render him acutely apprehensive, but he refrained from drawing her attention to this. He said soothingly: ‘Of course! With the greatest pleasure on earth!’

To his relief, she released him. He smoothed his sleeve carefully, and was inclined to think that no irreparable damage had been done to it.

‘I cannot and I will not return to Arnside!’ announced Kitty. ‘At least, I suppose I must for a little while, but I won’t remain there, meekly waiting for—for some obliging person to marry me! By hook or by crook I mean to go to London! Ever since I was seventeen I have yearned to go. Uncle Matthew will not let me. He says it would be a great waste of money, and that it is not to be thought of. It is useless to argue with him upon that head: in fact, it is much worse than useless, because the last time I begged him to let me go with Fish, for one week, only to see the sights, he went to bed, and stayed there for a fortnight, and would do nothing but throw things at Spiddle and poor Fish, and groan in the most affecting way whenever I entered his room! He said he had nourished a serpent in his bosom, and that I did not care how soon he was dead and buried, besides being giddy, and selfish, and too young to go to London. Of course, the thing was that he could not let me go without Fish, and that would have meant that there would have been no one left at Arnside to order everything as he likes, for he won’t employ a housekeeper, you know.’

‘Very hard case,’ said Freddy politely. ‘But it ain’t got anything to do with—’

‘It has, Freddy, it has!’ insisted Kitty. ‘Only consider! If you were to offer for me, and I should accept your offer, Lord and Lady Legerwood would wish to see me, would they not?’