The Corinthian

to go down to history as one who not only possessed a cousin who was a monster of precocious depravity, but who actually aided and abetted him in attempting to seduce a respectable young female.”

“No, no!” said Pen earnestly. “Nothing of the kind, I assure you! I have it all arranged in the best possible way, and your part will be everything of the most proper!”

“Oh, well, in that case—!” said Sir Richard, lowering his hand.

“Now I know you are laughing at me! I am going to be the only son of a widow.”

“The unfortunate woman has all my sympathy.”

“Yes, because I am very wild, and she can do nothing with me. That is why you are here, of course. I cannot but see that I don’t look quite old enough to be an eligible suitor. Do you think I do, sir?”

“No, I don’t. In fact, I should not be surprised if Lydia’s parent were to arrive with a birch-rod.”

“Good gracious, how dreadful! I never thought of that! Well, I shall depend upon you.”

“You may confidently depend upon me to tell Major Daubenay that his daughter’s story is a farrago of lies.”

Pen shook her head. “No, we can’t do that. I said just the same myself, but you must see how difficult it would be to persuade Major Daubenay that we are speaking the truth. Consider, sir! She told him that I had followed her here, and I must admit it looks very black, because I was in the spinney last night, and you know we cannot possibly explain the real story. No, we must make the best of it. Besides, I quite feel that we ought to help Piers, if he does indeed wish to marry such a foolish creature.”

“I have not the slightest desire to help Piers, who seems to me to be behaving in a most reprehensible fashion.”

“Oh no, indeed he cannot help it! I see that I had better tell you their whole story.”

Without giving Sir Richard time to protest, she launched into a rapid and colourful account of the young lovers’ tribulations. The account, being freely embellished with her own comments, was considerably involved, and Sir Richard several times interrupted it to crave enlightenment on some obscure point. At the end of it, he remarked without any noticeable display of enthusiasm: “A most affecting history. For myself, I find the theme of Montague and Capulet hopelessly outmoded, however.”

“Well, I have made up my mind to it that there is only one thing for them to do. They must elope.”

Sir Richard, who had been playing with his quizzing-glass, let it fall, and spoke with startling severity. “Enough of this! Now, understand me, brat, I will engage to fob off the irate father, but there it must end! This extremely tedious pair of lovers may elope to-morrow for anything I care, but I will have no hand in it, and I will not permit you to have a hand in it either. Do you see?”

Pen looked speculatively at him. There was no smile visible in his eyes, which indeed looked much sterner than she had ever believed they could. Plainly, he would not lend any support to her scheme of eloping with Miss Daubenay herself. It would be better, decided Pen, to tell him nothing about this. But she was not one to let a challenge rest unanswered, and she replied with spirit: “You may do as you choose, but you have no right to tell me what I must or must not do! It is not in the least your affair.”

“It is going to be very much my affair,” replied Sir Richard.

“I don’t understand what you can possibly mean by saying anything so silly!”

“I daresay you don’t, but you will.”

“Well, we won’t dispute about that,” said Pen pacifically.

He laughed suddenly. “Indeed, I hope we shan’t!”

“And you won’t tell Major Daubenay that Lydia’s story was false?”

“What do you want me to tell him?” he asked, succumbing to the coaxing note in her voice, and the pleading look in her candid eyes.

“Why, that I have been with my tutor in Bath, but that I was so troublesome that my Mama—”

“The widow?”

“Yes, and now you will understand why she is a widow!”

“If you are supposed to favour your mythical father, I do understand. He perished on the gallows.”

“That is what Jimmy Yarde calls the Nubbing Cheat.”

“I daresay it is, but I beg you won’t.”

“Oh, very well! Where was I?”

“With your tutor.”

“To be sure. Well, I was so troublesome that my Mama sent you to bring me home. I expect you are a trustee, or something of that nature. And you may say all the horridest things about me to Major Daubenay that you like. In fact, you had better tell him that I am very bad, besides being quite a pauper.”

“Have no fear! I will draw such a picture of you as must make him thankful that his daughter has escaped becoming betrothed to such a monster.”

“Yes, do!” said Pen cordially “And then I must see Piers.”

“And then?” asked Sir Richard.

She sighed. “I haven’t thought of that yet. Really, we have so much on our hands that I cannot be teased with thinking of any more plans just now!”

“Will you let me suggest a plan to you, Pen?”

“Yes, certainly, if you can think of one. But first I should like to see Piers, because I still cannot quite believe that he truly wishes to marry Lydia. Why, she does nothing but cry, Richard!”

Sir Richard looked down at her enigmatically. “Yes,” he said. “Perhaps it would be better if you saw Piers first. People—especially young men—change a great deal in five years, brat.”

“True,” she said, in a melancholy tone. “But I didn’t change!”

“I think perhaps you did,” he said gently.

She seemed unconvinced, and he did not press the point. The waiter came in to clear away the covers, and hardly had he left the parlour than Major Daubenay’s card was brought to Sir Richard.

Pen, changing colour, exclaimed: “Oh dear, now I wish I weren’t here! I suppose I can’t escape now, can I?”

“Hardly. You would undoubtedly walk straight into the Major’s arms. But I won’t let him beat you.”

“Well, I hope you won’t!” said Pen fervently. “Tell me quickly, how does a person look depraved? Do I look depraved?”

“Not in the least. The best you can hope for is to look sulky.”

She retired to a chair in the corner, and sprawled in it, trying to scowl. “Like this?”

“Excellent!” approved Sir Richard.

A minute later, Major Daubenay was ushered into the parlour. He was a harassed-looking man, with a high colour, and upon finding himself confronted by the tall, immaculate figure of a Corinthian, he exclaimed: “Good Gad! You are Sir Richard Wyndham!”

Pen, glowering in the corner, could only admire the perfection of Sir Richard’s bow. The Major’s slightly protuberant eyes discovered her. “And this is the young dog who has been trifling with my daughter!”

“Again?” said Sir Richard wearily.

The Major’s eyes stared at him. “Upon my soul, sir! Do you tell me that this—this young scoundrel is in the habit of seducing innocent females?”

“Dear me, is it as bad as that?” asked Sir Richard.

“No, sir, it is not!” fumed the Major. “But when I tell you that my daughter has confessed that she went out last night to meet him clandestinely in a wood, and has met him many times before in Bath—”

Up came Sir Richard’s quizzing-glass. “I condole with you,” he said. “Your daughter would appear to be a young lady of enterprise.”

“My daughter,” declared the Major, “is a silly little miss! I do not know what young people are coming to! This young man—dear me, he looks no more than a lad!—is, I understand, a relative of yours?”

“My cousin,” said Sir Richard. “I am—er—his mother’s trustee. She is a widow.”

“I see that I have come to the proper person!” said the Major.

Sir Richard raised one languid hand. “I beg you will acquit me of all responsibility, sir. My part is merely to remove my cousin from the care of a tutor who has proved himself wholly incapable of controlling his—er—