“How can you say so?” demanded Eleanor, indignantly. “For my part, I can never have too much of dancing.”
“Egad, you are right, ma’am,” declared Captain North, with a laugh. “What better occupation can there be for the fair sex than to delight us poor menfolk with such grace, such elegance as may be readily displayed in a ballroom? Where else are we privileged to behold beauty at her most entrancing, what? Don’t you agree, Crendon, eh?”
This time, Captain Crendon said nothing; but his eyes met Catherine’s, and they both started to laugh.
“Ay, you may laugh at me, you good-for-nothing fellow,” chided his friend, “but I’ll wager you’re of my opinion for all that, what?”
“You make it difficult for Captain Crendon to disagree with you, sir,” remarked Catherine, saucily. “If he does so, he must seem ungallant.”
“Why, so he is,” replied Captain North. “A regular boor of a chap, assure you, ma’am. I quite despair of him at times, I can tell you. But I’m determined to persevere, and try if I can’t make something of him yet.”
Captain Crendon gave an ironical bow. “Now you have my character, ladies. Some time I must give you my opinion of North’s — but I shall wait until he is not by.”
“Oh, but he is in jest, you know,” said Eleanor, who in spite of her quick perception could sometimes be a little naïve.
This made Catherine and Captain Crendon laugh again. The Colonel, who had not heard much of the preceding conversation, as he had been busy talking to his wife and Louisa, threw them a sharp look.
He moved across to Captain Crendon’s side, and Catherine found herself edged out to walk beside Frances and Louisa for a little way.
“What do you think of the two officers?” asked Frances, in a low tone.
“Oh, they are very agreeable,” replied Catherine, “but I wish Captain North would not laugh so much. He has such a stupid laugh.”
“You seemed not to find Captain Crendon’s laugh at all disagreeable,” remarked Frances, slyly.
“I should judge him to be a more sensible man,” put in Louisa.
“Sensible? Well, it depends. He has rather the reputation of being a neck-or-nothing fellow, as John says, and a bit of a womanizer into the bargain. Not that we know any real harm of him,” she added, fair-mindedly. “Oh, but look over there! Here comes someone whom we all know.”
“Who? Where?” asked Catherine, looking about her.
“Over there, just beyond those two elderly ladies sharing one parasol, one of them wearing a frightful purple gown! A group against the railings — four gentlemen — two of them in riding dress — no, do not stare so, Katie!”
Catherine, having identified Viscount Pamyngton among the group, was only too anxious to obey this behest. At this moment, Eleanor eluded Captain North and moved to her sister’s side, leaving the three officers talking together.
“Have you noticed?” she demanded of them. “There is Mr. Eversley over there, with Lord Pamyngton! How very fortunate if they speak to us, for I would like to renew my acquaintance with Mr. Eversley. He is a prodigiously entertaining young man!”
“Be quiet, Nell!” admonished Catherine, in a whisper. “If you stare so, they are sure to notice us and stop to speak.”
“And why in the world shouldn’t they?” asked Eleanor, in astonishment. “It is the very thing I would like — besides, Mama didn’t send us here to avoid Lord Pamyngton, as you very well know.”
“Well, really, you are the stupidest girl —!” began Catherine, in an irritated voice.
She was not allowed to say more, for as their group drew level with Pamyngton’s, he removed his hat and stepped forward to address Frances. Frederick Eversley, too, bowed in the direction of the three Denham girls, and general introductions followed.
In such a large group, it was not possible for long to avoid splitting up into twos and threes; and soon Catherine found herself talking to Captain Crendon again. After a while Pamyngton appeared at her elbow, but she took care to appear completely absorbed in her conversation with the Captain.
Pamyngton continued to wait patiently by her, addressing an odd remark to one or another of the party as the occasion demanded. Then, when Captain Crendon’s attention was claimed for a moment by the Colonel, he seized the opportunity to say, in a low tone, “I trust you are none the worse for your little accident of this morning, Miss Catherine.”
She reddened a trifle. “Oh, not at all!” she said, airily. “I have forgotten it completely.”
“I could wish your memory were as short for the offences of humans as it evidently is for those of animals,” he said, with a quizzical smile.
“But animals, my lord,” she retorted, quickly, “offend without knowing what they do.”
“You may be right, Miss Catherine, yet I had the oddest notion this morning that your donkey was very well aware of what he was doing.”
She shrugged, but made no answer.
“Is there no penance I can do to expiate my fault?” he asked, in mock humility. “You cannot mean to punish me in this way for ever.”
“I have nothing to add to what I said before, my lord.”
He sighed. “Oh, dear! Since you keep calling me ‘my lord’, I see there is very little hope. I wonder what I can possibly do to mend matters?”
He gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment with such a plaintive expression that she was hard put to it not to laugh.
“I have it!” he exclaimed suddenly, on a triumphant note. “Now, why did I not think of that before?”
She opened her lips as though she would speak, then shut them again firmly, determined not to be betrayed into showing the slightest curiosity.
He smiled, and was beginning to say something else, when he was interrupted by Captain Crendon, who had turned to address her again.
Reluctantly, she transferred her attention to the Captain. She was quite surprised to find that in some curious way she had been enjoying this interchange with Pamyngton.
Chapter Eight
FLOWERS IN SEASON
“The most intriguing thing, Katie!” exclaimed Frances, bursting into the morning room where the three girls were sitting shortly after breakfast on the following day. “Something has arrived for you — a —” she stopped, and laughed. “But I’ll not say any more,” she resumed. “It shall be a surprise! Come and see!”
With one accord, her sisters jumped to their feet and almost pushed her through the open door.
“What is it? Do tell us — don’t be tiresome, Fanny! Did you say for Katie? What can it be?”
Their eager questions made her laugh again as she guided them to a table in the hall. On it stood a large wicker basket containing a profusion of roses in every hue, their perfume filling the air. The sisters gasped and stared.
“For me?” asked Catherine, at last. “How do you know?”
Frances indicated a small envelope fastened to the handle of the basket. Catherine advanced to take it in her hand and saw that her name was inscribed on it.
She pulled it away from the fastening, and tore it open with mounting curiosity. It contained a very small card with a brief message:
‘Alas, they are not out of season. I fear it is one more fault for which I must beg your forgiveness.’
There was no signature. She stared as the colour mounted to her cheeks.
“Well, who is it?” demanded Eleanor, impatiently. “Aren’t you going to tell us who sent them?”
Catherine shook her head. “The card isn’t signed,” she said, still regarding it thoughtfully.
“Not signed?” echoed Eleanor. “But there’s something written on it, isn’t there? I can see that from here!”
“Even if it isn’t signed,” remarked Frances, studying her sister’s face, “I think you know very well who sent the flowers.”
“Perhaps,” replied Catherine, slowly.
“Well, there’s no need to make a mystery of it, is there?” demanded her younger sister, indignant
ly. “Surely you can tell us? Is it Captain Crendon? The two of you were going along famously yesterday, I must say. I’ll wager it’s he!”
But Catherine ungenerously declined to satisfy their curiosity. She picked up the basket, and saying that she would take it to her room, abruptly left them standing there in the hall. As she mounted the staircase, she could hear them discussing her attitude in far from flattering terms.
When she reached her bedroom, she placed the basket on the dressing table, and sat down pensively before it. The card was still in her hand. She read it again.
It was from Pamyngton, there could be no doubt of that. But what did he mean by it? ‘Alas, they are not out of season.’ She had realized at once that this was a reference to one of her own foolish, impetuous remarks at that first meeting, when she had stated emphatically that the man she married must prove his love by sending her flowers that were out of season. Was he flirting with her, or could he possibly be attempting to pay her serious attentions? She shook her head at this thought, and a saucy smile curved her mouth. She could no more believe in the earnestness of his attentions than she could in his much-vaunted penitence for deceiving her about his name. It seemed the gentleman had a talent for nonsense, and nonsense of this kind was very much to Catherine’s taste. She recalled the entertainment she had found in yesterday’s brief conversation with him, and how sorry she had been when it ended. Yes, and now she came to think of it, he had said something then which might account for this gift of flowers today. Well, if that was the game he chose to play, she was not unwilling. It might be amusing to pursue it for a time. The question was, should she share the jest with her sisters?
She pondered this point for a while. It might be awkward to keep it from them; if Pamyngton continued his light-hearted pursuit of her, they might take it for earnest, and report it to Mama. She shuddered at the thought of the complications and embarrassments which might arise from this. Besides, a joke shared was usually a joke doubled. What finally decided her was the sudden discovery that she no longer resented the deception he had practised on her. At first, the recollection of it had made her feel foolish, but now all such embarrassment had passed away. She was ready to admit, if only to herself, that he had perhaps had a certain amount of justification for concealing his identity. However that might be, the episode had lost its sting. She was ready to laugh over it, and to derive added entertainment from keeping up a pretence of still being vexed with him.
So when her three sisters eventually followed her upstairs, they found her in a carefree mood and quite ready to share her story with them. Louisa at first showed a tendency to be shocked by this recital of her sister’s indiscretions; but the other two so evidently found it amusing that she soon joined in their merriment, even if in a more restrained way.
“I knew you’d been up to something that day, Katie,” declared Eleanor, laughing, “but I never guessed the half! Running away — and on Stella! You might have known she wouldn’t let you ride her far, you goose! And to be rescued by Viscount Pamyngton, of all people!”
“You know,” said Frances, reflectively, “Mama herself could not have arranged anything better suited to her purpose. Only consider the outcome. He is evidently taken with you.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Catherine, colouring a little. “It’s just a game — he’s not serious.”
“How can you be sure?” demanded Louisa.
Catherine shrugged. “Oh I don’t know, but I am. His manner is altogether too light-hearted — perhaps he’s flirting a little, but no more. And I don’t mind confessing that I mean to join him in the game, too — it will be vastly diverting! For a time, at any rate, that is.”
“Oh, Katie!” said Louisa, reproachfully.
“Well, why not? You must know, Lou, that I’m not nearly so serious-minded as you are. And I think it would be no bad thing if you were to stop brooding over Oliver for a while, and indulge in a little harmless flirtation with someone or other. There are plenty of handsome young officers in Brighton. What do you say to Captain Crendon, for instance?”
“I’ve no desire to flirt with that gentleman or anyone else,” replied Louisa, firmly.
“Well, I must say I agree with Katie,” put in Eleanor. “Where is the use in mooning away after a man you may never wed? You don’t wish to be an old maid, do you, now?”
“My wishes have nothing to say to the matter,” muttered Louisa, with a trembling lip.
“Well, I’ll not believe that even Oliver could wish such a fate on you,” retorted Eleanor, with more persistence than tact. “He has positively no prospect of advancement, and nothing less would reconcile Papa and Mama to your marriage, so surely he must see that the only course is for you both to look about you for someone else.”
“Well, really!” began Frances. “Of all the cold-blooded little monsters —!”
“She doesn’t understand,” said Louisa, quietly. “How could she? But allow me to tell you, Nell, that Oliver has done exactly what you think he should. At our last meeting” — her lips quivered for a moment — “he told me that I must try to forget him, and he said — he said — that he would do his best to overcome his feelings for me.”
Catherine stared in amazement. “Well!” she exclaimed. “Whatever you may think of that, Lou, I call it uncommonly poor-spirited!”
Louisa bridled. “I will not have you say so! You have known Oliver all your life, as we all have. You cannot in justice accuse him of lacking any manly — or gentlemanly — quality!”
“Besides,” put in Frances, reasonably, “what would you have him do?”
“Oh, something outrageous and — and impossible, and — romantic!” exclaimed Catherine. “I don’t know what — defy Mama and Papa, and run off with you to Gretna Green!”
She burst out laughing at the effect of this utterance on her audience. Louisa was too stunned for speech, and even Eleanor looked taken aback. Frances, after a momentary look of disapproval, relaxed into an indulgent smile.
“Leaving on one side all questions of propriety, can you suppose such conduct would serve to advance him in his chosen profession? No, Katie, you’ll have to better than that.”
“Of course I’m not serious. But all the same, I do think he takes the matter tamely — oh, very well, Lou! I’m sorry.” She flung an arm about her sister, and kissed her cheek. “I’ll not tease you any more, I promise. But since you have his permission to try and forget him, why not indulge in a little harmless flirtation? It has a prodigiously tonic effect, I assure you.”
“You are a shameless minx!” said Frances, severely. “I can see that I shall have my hands full in chaperoning you.”
Chapter Nine
THE GRAND ROSE BALL
The first Assembly of the season had been opened at half past nine by the Prince of Wales, his tightly corseted stomach threatening to burst the buttons of his elegant dark blue coat, and his fleshy face beaming with joviality. He had good reason to be pleased, for his horse, Orville, had come in first at the Races that day. The Prince had previously made a gift of a silver gilt cup which was to be presented to this years’ winner; but as his own horse had won, he magnanimously presented the trophy to Orville’s former owner.
The ballroom at the Castle Inn was a handsome one, lit by three magnificent glass chandeliers and decorated with pilasters which formed a series of compartments at each end of the room and along the sides. Here those who were not dancing might sit in comparative seclusion and watch the more active members of the assembly; or if they tired of this, could admire the classical paintings which adorned the walls.
Louisa and Catherine were sitting together on a sofa in one of these alcoves during an interval between the dances. They were so absorbed in watching Eleanor, who was standing some distance away conducting a lively conversation with a group of young people, that both of them gave a start when a gentleman approached unobserved to speak to them.
They looked round and saw it was Viscount Pamyngton. Catherine thought
immediately how well he looked in his formal evening attire. His fair hair and complexion were admirably set off by the black coat and breeches which he was wearing with a waistcoat of quilted white marcella. He bowed and asked Louisa if she would do him the honour of dancing with him.
She seemed taken by surprise, and she declined hastily, in a confused way that might have been expected from a girl at her first ball, but was scarcely fitting in one of her years and social experience.
Pamyngton accepted her refusal with a good grace, and turned to solicit Catherine’s hand instead. This had been his real object, but he was not the man to flout the proper forms; an elder sister must always be asked before a younger.
“Thank you, sir, but I am already engaged for the next dance,” replied Catherine, glancing at him demurely from under her lashes.
“A pity. Then perhaps I may venture to hope for the following one?”
“Well, as to that, I’m sure I can’t recall — but I am certain that I owe it to someone,” she said, outrageously.
“If he is so unimportant that you’ve forgotten his name, Miss Catherine, then could you not go a little further and forget the engagement altogether?”
“Oh, no! That would be most improper,” she said, in her most virtuous manner.
He bowed. “Of course I must not urge you to forsake the proprieties, ma’am. But perhaps if I apply to you again in the course of the evening, I may be fortunate enough to find you at liberty for just one dance?”
She unfurled her fan, and hid a smile behind it. “Perhaps — I cannot be sure. Oh, here comes my partner — you must forgive me.”
She rose from the sofa as Captain Crendon came towards them. After a brief exchange of civilities, he escorted her to the floor.
Pamyngton allowed a small sigh to escape him. “Alas, I am deprived of both my partners,” he said to Louisa with a rueful smile. “Can I not persuade you to change your mind, and take pity on me? Or are you, too, awaiting another and more welcome partner?”
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