The Corinthian

She glanced at Miss Daubenay’s flower-like countenance, and made a discovery. Miss Daubenay’s soft chin had acquired a look of obstinacy; the fawn-like eyes stared back at her with a mixture of appeal and determination. “You can’t wash your hands of it. I told you that Papa was going to seek an interview with your cousin to-day.”

“You must stop him.”

“I can’t. You don’t know Papa!”

“No, and I don’t want to know him,” Pen pointed out.

“If I told him it had all been lies, I do not know what he might not do. I won’t do it! I don’t care what you may say: I won’t!”

“Well, I shall deny every word of your story.”

“Then,” said Lydia, not without triumph, “Papa will do something dreadful to you, because he will think it is you who are telling lies!”

“It seems to me that unless he is a great fool he must know you well enough by now to guess that it is you who have told lies!” said Pen, with asperity.

“It’s no use being disagreeable and rude,” said Lydia. “Papa thinks you followed me to Queen Charlton.”

“You mean you told him so,” said Pen bitterly.

“Yes, I did. At least, he asked me, and I said yes before I had had time to think.”

“Really, you are the most brainless creature! Do you never think?” said Pen, quite exasperated. “Just look what a coil you’ve created! Either your Papa is coming to ask me what my intentions are, or—which I think a great deal more likely—to complain to Richard about my conduct! Oh dear, whatever will Richard say to this fresh disturbance?”

It was plain that all this meant nothing to Miss Daubenay. For form’s sake, she repeated that she was very sorry, but added: “I hoped you would be able to help me. But you are a boy! You don’t understand what it means to be persecuted as I am!”

This remark could not but strike a chord of sympathy. “As a matter of fact, I do know,” said Pen. “Only, if helping you means offering for your hand, I won’t do it. The more I think of it, the more ridiculous it seems to me that you should have dragged me into it. How could such an absurd tale possibly be of use?”

Lydia sighed. “One does not think of those things in the heat of the moment. Besides, I didn’t really mean to drag you in. It—it just happened.”

“I don’t see how it could have happened if you didn’t mean it.”

“One thing led to another,” Lydia explained vaguely. “Almost before I knew it, the whole story had—had grown up. Of course I don’t wish you to offer for my hand, but I do think you might pretend you want to, so that Papa shan’t suspect me of telling lies.”

“No!” said Pen.

“I think you are very unkind,” whimpered Lydia. “I shall be sent back to Bath, and Great-Aunt Augusta will spy on me, and I shall never see Piers again!”

“Who?” Pen’s head was jerked round. “Who will you never see again?”

“Oh, please do not ask me! I did not mean to mention his name!”

“Are you—” Pen stopped, rather white of face, and started again: “Are you betrothed to Piers Luttrell?”

“You know him!” Miss Daubenay clasped ecstatic hands.

“Yes,” said Pen, feeling as though the pit of her stomach had suddenly vanished. “Yes, I know him.”

“Then you will help me!”

Miss Creed’s clear blue eyes met Miss Daubenay’s swimming brown ones. Miss Creed drew a long breath. “Is—is Piers indeed in love with you?” she asked incredulously.

Miss Daubenay bridled. “You need not sound so surprised! We have been plighted for a whole year! Why do you look so oddly?”

“I beg your pardon,” apologized Pen. “But how he must have changed! It is very awkward!”

“Why?” asked Lydia, staring.

“Well, it—it—you wouldn’t understand. Has he been meeting you in woods for a whole year?”

“No, because Papa sent me to Bath, and Sir Jasper forbade him to see me any more, and even Lady Luttrell said we were too young. But we love each other!”

“It seems extraordinary,” said Pen, shaking her head. “You know, I find it very hard to believe!”

“You are the horridest boy! It is perfectly true, and if you know Piers you may ask him for yourself! I wish I had never clapped eyes on you!”

“So do I,” replied Pen frankly.

Miss Daubenay burst into tears. Pen surveyed her with interest, and asked presently in the voice of one probing mysteries: “Do you always cry as much as this? Do you—do you cry at Piers?”

“I don’t cry at people!” sobbed Miss Daubenay. “And if Piers knew how horrid you have been to me he would very likely knock you down!”

Pen gave a hiccup of laughter. This incensed Lydia so much that she stopped crying, and dramatically commanded Pen to leave the orchard immediately. However, when she discovered that Pen was only too ready to take her at her word, she ran after her, and clasped her by the arm. “No, no, you cannot go until we have decided what is to be done. You won’t—oh, you can’t be cruel enough to deny my story to Papa!”

Pen considered this. “Well, provided you won’t expect me to offer for you—”

“No, no, I promise I won’t!”

Pen frowned. “Yes, but it’s of no use. There is only one thing for it: you will have to run away.”

“But—”

“Now, don’t begin to talk about the scandal, and spoiling your dress!” begged Pen. “For one thing, it is odiously missish, and for another Piers will never be able to bear it.”

“Piers,” said Miss Daubenay, with swelling bosom, “thinks me Perfect!”

“I haven’t seen Piers for a long time, but he can’t have grown up as stupid as that!” Pen pointed out.

“Yes, he—oh, I hate you, I hate you!” cried Lydia, stamping her foot. “Besides, how can I run away?”

“Oh, Piers will have to arrange it! If Richard doesn’t object, I daresay I may help him,” Pen assured her. “You will have to escape at dead of night, of course, which puts me in mind of a very important thing: you will need a rope-ladder.”

“I haven’t a rope-ladder,” objected Lydia.

“Well, Piers must make one for you. If he throws it up to your window, you could attach it securely, could you not, and climb down it?”

“I would rather escape by the door,” said Lydia, gazing helplessly up at her.

“Oh, very well, but it seems rather tame! However, it is quite your own affair. Piers will be waiting for you with a post-chaise-and-four. You will leap up into it, and the horses will spring forward, and you will fly for the Border! I can see it all!” declared Pen, her eyes sparkling.

Lydia seemed to catch a little of her enthusiasm. “To be sure, it does sound romantic,” she admitted. “Only it is a great way to the Border, and everyone would be so cross with us!”

“Once you were married that wouldn’t signify.”

“No. No, it wouldn’t, would it? But I don’t think Piers has any money.”

“Oh!” Pen’s face fell. “That certainly makes it rather awkward. But I daresay we shall contrive something.”

Lydia said: “Well, if you don’t mind, I would prefer not to go to Gretna, because although it would be romantic I can’t help thinking it would be very uncomfortable. Besides, I couldn’t have any attendants, or a wedding-dress, or a lace veil, or anything.”

“Don’t chatter!” said Pen. “I am thinking.”

Lydia was obediently silent.

“We must soften your father’s heart!” declared Pen at length.

Lydia looked doubtful. “Yes, I should like that of all things, but how?”

“Why, by making him grateful to Piers, of course!”

“But why should he be grateful to Piers? He says Piers is a young cub.”

“Piers,” said Pen, “must rescue you from deadly peril.”