Devil’s Cub

When his name was announced she was reclining on a couch in her withdrawing-room, her hands encased in chicken-skin gloves (for an east wind had slightly chapped their soft whiteness), yawning over the pages of The Inflexible Captive. She gave a perceptible start, but recovered herself in an instant, and greeted his grace with apparent delight.

“La, Justin, is it you indeed? I’m vastly glad to see you. Only look at this book that John has given me! It is writ by by that Bluestocking, Mrs. More. I find it amazingly dull, do not you?”

His grace came over to the fire, and stood looking enigmatically down at her. “Amazingly, my dear Fanny. Do I see you in your customary good health?”

Lady Fanny promptly launched into a recital of the many ailments that afflicted her. It was a fruitful topic, and his grace evinced enough polite interest to encourage her to enlarge on it. She enlarged for twenty minutes and discoursed on Dr. Cocchi’s book, The Pythagorean Diet, or Vegetables only conducive to the Preservation of Health and the Cure of Diseases. His grace was urbanity itself. Lady Fanny quaked inwardly, and began to falter in her account of her indisposition. A short pause ensued. His grace took snuff, and as he shut his elegant gold box said languidly: “I understand, my dear Fanny, that there is to be a marriage in our family.”

Lady Fanny started upright on the couch. “A—a marriage?” she stammered. “Why—why—what do you mean, Justin?”

His grace’s brows rose a little; she thought there was a gleam of malice in his eyes. “Doubtless I have been misinformed. I was under the impression that my niece is about to espouse a gentleman of the name of Comyn.”

“Oh!” gasped her ladyship, quite faint with relief. She sank back upon her cushions. “Of course she’ll do no such thing, Justin. Why, have you forgot that I’ve sent her to Paris to be out of the unfortunate young man’s way?”

“On the contrary, I understood that you sent her there to prevent a mesalliance.”

“Well, but—but so it is!” said Fanny, taken aback.

His grace flicked a speck of snuff from his sleeve. “I should inform you, my dear sister, that the marriage has my support.”

Lady Fanny felt for her vinaigrette. “But I won’t have it! He’s a nobody, Justin! I intend her to make a far better match. I made sure you would dislike it excessively. Pray, what in the world has come over you? You’ve never set eyes on young Comyn.”

“I hesitate to contradict you, Fanny,” said his grace politely, “but you will perhaps allow me to be not yet in my dotage. I have met and approved Mr. Comyn. He seemed to be a young gentleman of considerable presence of mind. I am only surprised that he should wish to ally himself with my niece.”

Lady Fanny took a sniff at her salts, and regained strength enough to say: “I suppose you have gone mad, Justin. Let me tell you that I have every hope that Juliana will wed Bertrand de Saint-Vire.”

His grace smiled. “I fear, my dear Fanny, that you are doomed to disappointment.”

“I don’t know what you mean, and I’m sure I don’t desire to!” said her ladyship pettishly. “I might have guessed you would be monstrous disagreeable! And if you are come home early from Newmarket only to encourage Juliana in her waywardness I think it quite abominable of you,”

“Pray calm yourself, Fanny; I am about to relieve you of my presence. You will no doubt be glad to learn that I am leaving London to-night.”

Lady Fanny eyed him in considerable trepidation. “Oh indeed, Justin? May I ask where you propose going?”

“Certainly,” replied his grace blandly. “But surely you have guessed?”

Lady Fanny stammered: “No—yes—pray, how should I guess? Where are you going?”

His grace moved towards the door. His eyes mocked her. “But to Cousin Harriet, my dear. Where else should I go?” He bowed, while she stared at him in mingled horror and suspicion, and before she had time to collect her wits, the door had closed behind him.

Chapter XII

Miss Marling heard that her dearest Mary was intending to become a governess she had the wit to keep her dismay to herself. It did not take the lively damsel long to discover the whole state of Mary’s mind, and having discovered it she became instantly resolved on Miss Challoner’s marriage to the Marquis. She lent a kind but disbelieving ear to Mary’s steadfast disavowal of the tender passion, and when asked to aid her friend in the search for a genteel family, said frankly that she knew of none. Mary, with only a few borrowed guineas in her pocket, found that she was as much in Vidal’s power as she had ever been, and since she feared that to take Tante Elisabeth into her confidence would lead only to her instant expulsion from the house, she threw herself on Juliana’s mercy, and begged her to save her from Vidal. To be cast to the street in a foreign city was a fate from which even the redoubtable Miss Challoner shrank. She had a feeling that she was fighting in the last ditch, and when her appeal to Juliana was unavailing, there seemed to be no hope left of holding his lordship at arm’s length.

Juliana, with a worldly wisdom learned no doubt from her mamma, pointed out the advantages of the match. She had no doubt, she said, that Vidal would make an odious husband, but Mary would be amazingly stupid not to take him, for more than half the dowagers in London wanted him for their own daughters.

Mary said unhappily: “I’ve begged you—I’ve prayed you to help me escape from this net Do you care for me so littler

“I love you so much I’m quite delighted to think yon are to be my cousin,” responded Miss Marling. She embraced Mary warmly. “Truly, my dear, I daren’t smuggle you out of the way. I’ve promised Vidal I won’t, and even if I did he would find you in a trice. What shall you wear at the ball to-night?”

“I dont go,” Mary said in a flat voice.

“Good gracious, Mary, why not?”

“I am in your cousin’s house under false pretences,” Mary said bitterly, “she would not take me to these parlies if she knew the truth.”

“Well, she don’t know it,” replied Juliana. “Do come, my dear: Vidal will be there.”

“I have no desire to meet his lordship,” said Mary, and would say no more.

Mme. de Charbonne, the most easy-going of dames, made no more objection to Mary’s remaining at home than she had made to her sudden arrival two days before. Mary had told her, in desperation, that she was under the necessity of earning a living for herself, and it was plain that madame—who upon hearing this news had regarded her young guest as a kind of rara avis—considered that balls must certainly be out of place for indigent young females. Upon being asked if she could recommend Miss Challoner to a suitable family she had said vaguely that she would bear it in mind, which did not sound particularly hopeful.

Having seen Juliana arrayed for her party in a rose-pink taffeta gown trimmed with chenille silver and spread over immense elbow-hoops; her hair dressed in her favourite Gorgonne style by no less a personage than M. le Gros himself; her person scented with cassia, Miss Challoner bade her farewell and prepared to spend a quiet evening in one of the smaller salons. She intended to apply herself seriously to the problem of escape, but in this she was frustrated by the appearance, not half an hour after Madame de Char-bonne’s and Juliana’s departure, of Mr. Frederick Comyn.

She had already met Mr. Comyn once since their unfortunate encounter at Dieppe, and she supposed that he was apprised of her situation. His manner was extremely respectful, and she thought that she could detect a certain grave sympathy in his gaze.

When the lackey ushered him into the salon she rose, and curtsied to him, and perceived as she did so that his firm mouth was rather tightly compressed. He bowed to her, and said, more as a statement than a question: “You are alone> ma’am.”

“Why yes,” she answered. “Were you not informed at the door, sir, that Miss—that Madame is gone out to- night?”

Mr. Comyn said with a touch of gloom: “Your first premise was correct, ma’am. It is not Madame de Charbonne that I came hoping to see, but Miss Marling. I was indeed informed that she was gone out, but I ventured to inquire for yourself, ma’am, believing that you would be able to oblige me by divulging Miss Mailing’s present whereabouts.”

Miss Challoner begged him to be seated. She had a shrewd notion that all was not entirely well between Miss