himself, would be brought to regard him in the light of a responsible adult. Even Deborah, in her most mellow moments, treated him rather as she might be expected to treat a younger brother. She laughed at him, and teased him, and could rarely be brought to take him very seriously.
But Miss Laxton was two years younger than he, and she did not see him as a delightful boy who had not yet found his feet. To her, running away from the advances of one who seemed to her an ogre, he was a tall young knight who had stepped out from the pages of a fairy story. His knowledge of the world seemed vast to one who had none at all. He was handsome, and strong, and gentle. He instructed her ignorance, and bade her entrust her safety to him. It was not surprising that Miss Laxton should have fallen head over ears in love with him.
She was in no doubt about her feelings; it was some time before he realized the state of his own heart, and longer still before he would admit to himself that he had, incredibly, fallen out of love with one woman headlong into love with another. It seemed appalling to him that he could have done such a thing, and he was inclined to think himself the most fickle and despicable of created beings. But he knew that his love for Phoebe was quite a different emotion from his half awed adoration of Deborah. He had been swept off his feet by Deborah. She was a goddess to be worshipped, beautiful, wise, and dazzling; always immeasurably superior to himself. He did not think of Phoebe like that at all. He knew quite well that she was not as beautiful as Deborah, not wise, and appealing rather than dazzling. When Deborah had smiled at him, he had felt quite dizzy, and had had wild, romantic notions of kissing the hem of her garment, or performing impossible feats in her honour. When Phoebe smiled, no such thoughts occurred to him, but he was conscious of a strong impulse to catch her up in his arms, and hold her safe there.
He had had just such an impulse when he had said good night to her before coming down to the supper-room that evening. She had looked forlorn and defenceless, and was frightened, because she knew that Filey was in the house. He felt concerned about her, so Miss Grantham’s lack of sympathy struck him forcibly, and he came as near losing his temper with her as he had ever been in his life.
When she left the room, he joined the group round his cousin. Crewe was trying to discover what was the nature of the injury to Ravenscar’s hands, and several other persons were discussing the relative points of the two pairs of horses, and the character of the course to be covered. This had been changed from the original stretch past Epsom to a straightforward run from the village of Islington to Hatfield, on the Great North Road. Listening to the talk, Lord Mablethorpe forgot his heart’s preoccupations for a time. “I wish I were going with you!” he said wistfully. “I mean to drive out to see the finish, but that’s not the same thing.”
Ravenscar set down his empty glass on the table. “Well, you may come with me if you like,” he answered. “Only you must carry the yard of tin if you do!”
An eager flush rose to Mablethorpe’s cheeks. “Max! Do you mean it? You’ll take me in place of a groom? Oh, by Jupiter, that’s beyond anything great!”
Crewe laughed at his enthusiasm, and began to tease him.
“Why, Max, you can’t take him in place of Welling! You will be held up at every toll-bar!”
“He will not!” said Mablethorpe indignantly. “I can handle the yard of tin as well as anyone!”
“You will be so excited you will forget to blow up for the gates until it is too late.”
“I won’t! Why, I have often been with Max! I know just what to do!”
“Well,” said Crewe, shaking his head, “if you really mean to set up that great, lanky creature in Welling’s place, Max, I shall have to lay off you, and that is all there is to it.”
This shaft went home. Lord Mablethorpe’s face fell ludicrously, and he turned anxious eyes towards his cousin. “Oh Max, had I better not go with you? Am I too heavy?”
As his lordship, though tall, was boyishly slim, this apprehensive question produced a shout of laughter, which made him blush more hotly than ever. However, as he was quite accustomed to being roasted by his cousin’s friends, he took it in very good part, merely prophesying darkly the hideous fate that would one day overtake Berkeley Crewe, and announcing his intention of going home immediately, to be sure of a good night’s sleep before the race.
Mr Ravenscar thought this a wise decision, and further suggested that his lordship should refrain from informing his parent that he was to take part in the race. Lord Mablethorpe said: “Oh, by God, no! I won’t say a word to her about it!” and went off, forgetting, for the first time since he had met her, to take his leave of Miss Grantham.
Mr Ravenscar went upstairs to play faro, but if Lady Bellingham was gratified to see him at the table she managed to conceal it, looking at him with the dilating eyes of a trapped rabbit whenever he glanced in her direction, and finding it exceedingly difficult to keep her attention on the game. She had never been so glad to see a table break up and when the last of her guests had left the house she found herself without strength to climb the stairs to her bedroom, but collapsed upon a yellow satin sofa, and moaned for hartshorn.
“Be easy, ma’am!” said Lucius Kennet, who had stayed to exchange a word with Deborah. “Now, me darlin’, perhaps you’ll be telling me what game it is you’re after playing!”
Miss Grantham swung her wide skirts defiantly. “I told you what happened. It was not my fault.”
“What maggot got into your brain to give Ravenscar a candle?”
“I didn’t know what he meant to do. How should I guess?”
“What the devil should he be wanting with a candle at all, if not to be up to some mischief? Sure, it’s not like you to be gulled, Deb!”
“Well, I should not like to be left in the dark myself,” she said. “Besides, he said there were rats.”
“He was quite right,” said Lady Bellingham faintly, opening her eyes. “The servants are for ever complaining about them but what can one do?”
“Whisht, Deb! Is it the likes of Ravenscar that would afraid of a rat or two?”
“Mortimer is afraid of them,” said Lady Bellingham. “He gives me no peace about it! I am sure Ravenscar may well have been afraid of them. Oh, I shall go distract He will tell everyone what you did to him, my love, and end of it will be that no one will dare come to the house again!”
“Who bound up Ravenscar’s hands?” demanded Kennet, eyes fixed on Miss Grantham’s face. “And if he burned cord, how came his ruffles to escape? Tell me that!”
“They didn’t escape,” said Deborah crossly. “I lent him Kit’s ruffles. Where is Kit?”
Kennet grinned. “Faith, I’m thinking he didn’t care for style of things here, me darlin’, for he took himself off to supper. Don’t be trying to dodge the issue, now! It was yourself tied Ravenscar’s hands up, was it not?”
“Well, what else could I do?” she asked. “When I discovered that he was free, I was powerless to resist him. Besides, he more than half a mind to shut me up in the cellar in his place and that I could not have borne!”
“Deb, there was Silas in the hall, and meself playing I abovestairs! And what must you do but let Ravenscar out of the house without a soul to hinder him!”
“You are absurd, Lucius!” protested Miss Grantham. “Could I have a brawl in the middle of a card-party? There nothing to be done, and in any event I never meant to kid him by a hateful trick, which was what you did!”
“And what will you be doing now, me dear, if I may ask get the bills out of his hands?” asked Kennet politely.
“I don’t know, but you may be sure I shall think of so thing,” replied Deborah.
“It’s my belief,” said Kennet, “that it’s more than half in love with the man you are, Deb!”
“I?” gasped Miss Grantham. “In love with Ravenscar? Have you taken leave of your senses, Lucius? I detest him! He is most abominable, the most hateful, the most odious—oh!
She flounced out of the room as she spoke, almost collided with her brother in the doorway. Mr Grantham seemed out of breath, and exclaimed: “Deb! I could swear I saw him, just as I was crossing Piccadilly! You let him go after all!”
“I daresay you did see him,” she answered angrily. “But I did not let him go, and I never would have let him go, and he holds a very poor opinion of you, let me tell you!”
“And what, me dear Kit, may you be knowing about the business at all?” inquired Mr Kennet, as Deborah slammed the door behind her.
“I know it all! And I will thank you, Lucius, not to encourage Deb in her wildness again! If this night’s work has not ruined all my hopes it will be no fault of yours!”
“For the love of heaven, boy, what concern is it of yours?”
