The Corinthian

“You look extremely wicked. Out with it!”

“Piers and Lydia are going to elope to-night!”

The laugh died out of his eyes. “Pen, is this your doing?”

“Oh no, indeed it is not, sir! In fact, I had quite a different plan, only I dared not tell you, and, as a matter of fact, Piers did not think well of it. I wanted to abduct Lydia, so that Piers could rescue her from me, and so soften her Papa’s heart However, I dare say you would not have approved of that.”

“I should not,” said Sir Richard emphatically.

“No, that’s why I said nothing to you about it. In the end Lydia decided to elope.”

“You mean that you bullied the wretched girl—”

“I did not! You are most unjust, sir! On my honour, I did not! I don’t say that I didn’t perhaps put the notion into her head, but it was all the Major’s doing. He threatened to take her to Lincolnshire to-morrow morning, and of course she could not support life there! Oh, here comes the waiter! I will tell you the whole story presently.”

She retired to her favourite seat in the window while the covers were laid, and Sir Richard, standing with his back to the mighty fireplace, watched her. The waiter took his time over the preparations for dinner, and during one of his brief absences from the parlour, Pen said abruptly: “You were quite right: he has changed, sir. Only you were wrong about one thing: he does not think I have changed at all.”

“I did not suspect him to be capable of paying you so pretty a compliment,” said Sir Richard, raising his brows.

“Well, I don’t think he meant it to be a compliment,” said Pen doubtfully.

He smiled but said nothing. The waiter came back into the room with a laden tray, and began to set various dishes on the table. When he had withdrawn, Sir Richard pulled a chair out for Pen, and said: “You are served, brat. Hungry?”

“Not very,” she replied, sitting down.

He moved to his own place. “Why, how is this?”

“Well, I don’t know. Piers is going to elope with Lydia at midnight.”

“I trust that circumstance has not taken away your appetite?”

“Oh no! I think they will deal famously together, for they are both very silly.”

“True. What had you to do with their elopement?”

“Oh, very little, I assure you, sir! Lydia made up her mind to do it without any urging from me. All I did was to hire the post-chaise for Piers, on account of his being well-known in Keynsham.”

“I suppose that means that we shall be obliged to sustain another visit from Major Daubenay. I seem to be plunging deeper and deeper into a life of crime.”

She looked up enquiringly. “Why, sir? You have done nothing!”

“I am aware. But I undoubtedly should do something.”

“Oh no, it is all arranged! There is truly nothing left to do.”

“You don’t think that I—as one having reached years of discretion—might perhaps be expected to nip this shocking affair in the bud?”

“Tell the Major, do you mean?” Pen cried. “Oh, Richard, you would not do such a cruel thing? I am persuaded you could not!”

He refilled his glass. “I could, very easily, but I won’t. I am not, to tell you the truth, much interested in the affairs of a pair of lovers whom I have found, from the outset, extremely tiresome. Shall we discuss instead our own affairs?”

“Yes, I think we ought to,” she agreed. “I have been so busy to-day I had almost forgot the stammering-man. I do trust, Richard, we shall not be arrested!”

“Indeed, so do I!” he said, laughing.

“It’s very well to laugh, but I could see that Mr Philips did not like us at all.”

“I fear that your activities disarranged his mind. Fortunately, news has reached him that a man whom I suspect of being none other than the egregious Captain Trimble has been taken up by the authorities in Bath.”

“Good gracious, I never thought he would be caught! Pray, had he the necklace?”

“That, I am as yet unable to tell you. It is to be hoped that Luttrell and his bride will not prolong their honeymoon, since I fancy Lydia will be wanted to identify the prisoner.”

“If she knew that, I dare say she would never come back at all,” said Pen.

“A public-spirited female,” commented Sir Richard.

She giggled. “She has no spirit at all. I told you so, sir! Will the—the authorities wish to see me?”

“I hardly think so. In any event, they are not going to see you.”

“No, I must say I feel it might be excessively awkward if I were forced to appear,” remarked Pen. “In fact, sir, I think—I think I had better go home, don’t you?”

He looked at her. “To your Aunt Almeria, brat?”

“Yes, of course. There is nowhere else for me to go.”

“And Cousin Fred?”

“Well, I hope that after all the adventures I have gone through he will not want to marry me any more,” said Pen optimistically. “He is very easily shocked, you know.”

“Such a man would not be at all the husband for you,” he said, shaking his head. “You must undoubtedly choose some one who is not at all easily shocked.”

“Perhaps I had better mend my ways,” said Pen, with a swift unhappy smile.

“That would be a pity, for your ways are delightful. I have a better plan than yours, Pen.”

She got up quickly from the table. “No, no! Please no, sir!” she said in a choking voice.

He too rose, and held out his hand. “Why do you say that? I want you to marry me, Pen.”

“Oh Richard, I wish you would not!” she begged, retreating to the window. “Indeed, I don’t want you to offer for me. It is extremely obliging of you, but I could not!”

“Obliging of me! What nonsense is this?”

“Yes, yes, I know why you have said it!” she said distressfully. “You feel that you have compromised me, but indeed you haven’t, for no one will ever know the truth!”

“I detect the fell hand of Mr Luttrell,” said Sir Richard rather grimly. “What pernicious rubbish has he been putting into your head, my little one?”

This term of endearment made Pen wink away a sudden tear. “Oh no! Only I was stupid not to think of it before. Really, I have no more sense than Lydia! But you are so much older than I am that it truly did not occur to me—until Piers came, and that you told him, to save my face, that we were betrothed! Then I saw what a little fool I had been! But it does not signify, sir, for Piers will never breathe a word, even to Lydia, and Aunt Almeria need not know that I have been with you all the time.”

“Pen, will you stop talking nonsense? I am not in the least chivalrous, my dear: you may ask my sister, and she will tell you that I am the most selfish creature alive. I never do anything to please anyone but myself.”

“That I know to be untrue!” Pen said. “If your sister thinks it, she doesn’t know you. And I am not talking nonsense. Piers was shocked to find me with you, and you did think he had reason, or you would not have said what you did.”

“Oh yes!” he responded. “I am well aware of what the world would think of this escapade, but, believe me, my little love, I don’t offer marriage from motives of chivalry. To be plain with you, I started on this adventure because I was drunk, and because I was bored, and because I thought I had to do something which was distasteful to me. I stayed in it because I found myself enjoying it as I have not enjoyed anything for years.”

“You did not enjoy the stage-coach,” she reminded him.

“No, but we need not make a practice of travelling by the stage-coach, need we?” he said, smiling down at her. “Briefly, Pen, when I met you I was about to contract a marriage of convenience. Within twelve hours of making your acquaintance, I knew that no matter what might happen, I would not contract that marriage. Within twenty-four hours, my dear, I knew that I had found what I had come to believe did not exist’

“What was that?” she asked shyly.

His smile was a little twisted. “A woman—no, a chit of a girl! An impertinent, atrocious, audacious brat— whom I am very sure I cannot live without.”