they would be well-advised to set forward upon the short journey to Arnside immediately. The last of the punch was disposed of, the chaise bespoken, and Miss Charing once more wrapped in her thick cloak. The travellers climbed into the chaise, the steps were let up, and the door shut; and during the minutes which it took two sturdy horses to cover little more than a mile, Miss Charing coached her reluctant swain in the part he had to play. She was set down at the gates of Arnside, and disappeared, a good deal to the postilion’s surprise, into the night. Miss Charing had her own ways of entering the jealously-guarded grounds of Mr. Penicuik’s house; Mr. Standen was obliged to wait until the lodge-keeper came out to open gates which were invariably locked against the outer world at dusk. Since visitors to Arnside were rare, and evening-visitors unheard of, it was some time before this individual could be roused. By the time Mr. Standen alighted at the front-door of the house he judged that Miss Charing should have reached the side-door, and might even be already in her bedchamber.
Stobhill, the butler, was quite as much surprised as the lodge-keeper to see Mr. Standen, but (also like the lodge-keeper) seemed to take an indulgent view of his eccentric conduct. Indeed, as he presently observed to his colleague, Mr. Spiddle, there was never any saying what such a harebrained young gentleman might take it into his head to do next. He was perfectly well aware of the errand which had brought Mr. Penicuik’s great-nephews to Arnside; but when Mr. Standen asked in the most nonchalant way if Miss Charing would receive him, his sense of propriety was offended, and he said with some severity: “It’s the Master you should be seeing, sir.”
“What, is he still up and about?” asked Freddy anxiously.
“As to that, sir, I’m sure I could not say. We helped him up to his room half-an-hour ago, but I daresay he’s not yet abed. If you care to step into the Saloon, where you will find my Lord Dolphinton, my Lord Biddenden, and the Reverend, I will step up to enquire if the Master will see you.”
“No, you won’t,” said Freddy. “Bacon-brained thing to do at this hour of the evening! Besides, I want to see Miss Charing.”
“Miss went up to her room almost immediately after dinner, Mr. Freddy!” said Stobhill, still more disapproving.
“Yes, I know she did, but—” Freddy paused, encountering an astonished stare. He was momentarily shaken off his balance, but he made a quick recover. “What I mean is, if my cousins are here, of course she did! Anyone would! You go and tell her I’m here, and I beg the honour of a few words with her.”
He then moved towards the Saloon, and Stobhill, saying unencouragingly: “I will have your message conveyed to Miss, sir,” opened the door for him.
On one side of the fire, the Rattray brothers were playing cribbage; on the other, Lord Dolphinton was doing nothing. Hugh, who had found the cribbage-board, and had inaugurated the game with the self-sacrificing intention of alleviating his brother’s boredom, wore an expression of determined cheerfulness; Lord Biddenden, to whom cribbage was only less insupportable than an evening passed in talking to Hugh, was frankly impatient, made his discards almost at random, and yawned over the totting up of points. His chair faced the door, and it was thus he who first perceived Freddy. “Oh, the devil!” he exclaimed.
Hugh turned to look over his shoulder, and for an instant it seemed as though he doubted the evidence of his eyes. A slight flush mounted to his cheeks; he compressed his austere lips, as though to check some hasty utterance, and with deliberation pushed back his chair, and rose. By this time, Lord Dolphinton had assimilated the fact that another of his cousins had come to Arnside. He looked rather pleased, and said helpfully: “Here’s Freddy! Hallo, Freddy! You here?”
“Hallo, old fellow!” responded Mr. Standen good-naturedly. He drew near the fire, nodding affably to his other cousins, and levelling his quizzing-glass at the card-table. “You above par, George?” he enquired, mildly surprised. “Never seen you play cribbage before in my life! Well, I mean to say—Cribbage!”
“No, I am not!” replied Biddenden crossly. “It’s Hugh!”
“You don’t say so?” said Freddy, bringing his glass to bear on Hugh’s handsome countenance. “Hugh full of frisk? Well, I wouldn’t have thought it of you, Hugh!”
“Do not pretend to be more of a fool than God made you, Freddy!” said Hugh coldly. “You know very well that George did not wish to signify that I was inebriated—if, as I apprehend, that is the meaning of the cant you choose to employ.”
“Something thrown you into gloom?” asked Freddy solicitously. “A trifle out of sorts? Daresay you ate something at dinner that’s making you feel queasy. Devilish bad cook, my uncle’s: never eat a meal here if I can avoid it.”
“Thank you, I was never better in my life,” said Hugh. “May we know what has brought you to Arnside?”
Lord Biddenden stirred impatiently. “Oh, play off no airs for our benefit!” he begged. “It is as plain as a pikestaff why he is here!”
“I hesitate to contradict you, George, but I am far more inclined to suppose that Freddy does not know for what purpose he was invited here.”
Mr. Standen, who had turned to observe himself in the spotted mirror over the fireplace, discovered that his neckcloth needed an infinitesimal adjustment. Until this delicate operation had been performed, it was plainly useless to address questions to him. Hugh tapped his foot against the floor, his lip curling disdainfully; and Biddenden, who had himself a great inclination towards dandyism, watched with reluctant appreciation the deft straightening of a cravat which had roused his admiration at the outset. He held the poorest opinion of his cousin Freddy’s mental ability, but he always took covert note of any new fashion Freddy adopted, and very often copied it; and he would not for an instant have denied that Freddy’s rulings on such matters were worthy of respect. “Schultz make that coat?” he asked.
“Weston, George: never let another snyder cut my coats! Mind, if I wanted sporting toggery—”
“You have not yet answered my question!” interrupted Hugh. “What has brought you here?”
“Hired chaise,” said Freddy. “Thought of driving myself down, but too far for the tits. Bad weather, too.”
“I shall not gratify you by explaining my meaning,” said Hugh contemptuously. “You know quite well what it is.”
“I came in my own carriage,” offered Lord Dolphinton. “We changed horses twice, and I had a hot brick to keep my feet warm, and a shawl round my shoulders. I shall have another hot brick put in the carriage when I go back. I shall tell Stobhill to attend to it. My mother said that was what I should do, and I shall do it. Stobhill will know how to set about it.”
“I imagine the task need not strain his powers unduly!” said Biddenden snappishly.
“Some people,” said Dolphinton, “don’t heat the bricks right through.” He thought for a moment, and added: “Some people heat ’em too much.”
“Fact of the matter is, old fellow,” said Freddy, entering into the spirit of this, “it’s a dashed difficult thing to do. You leave it to Stobhill!”
“Well, that’s what I shall do,” said Dolphinton, much gratified. “I’m glad you’ve come, Freddy. Sensible fellow. You going to offer for Kitty?”
“That’s it,” replied Freddy.
“You know what?” said Dolphinton. “I hope she takes you. Wouldn’t take Hugh. Wouldn’t take me. George didn’t offer. Couldn’t, because he’s married. Can’t think why he came. Wasn’t invited, you know.”
Hugh said, with a certain deepening of his mellifluous voice: “We are to believe that, Freddy? You have indeed come for that purpose? I own, I had not thought it of you!”
“Well, if it comes to that,” said Freddy, “I hadn’t thought it of you! Never took you for a downy one. Daresay I was misled by those bands of yours: very likely thing to happen!”
“My motive in offering the protection of my name to our unfortunate young cousin is not, I assure you, a mercenary one.”
“Not our cousin,” objected Lord Dolphinton. “George said she wasn’t. Said my uncle told us so. I didn’t follow it all myself, but that’s what George said.”
No one paid any heed to this remark. Biddenden said with some asperity: “This is a new come-out for you, Freddy! Pray, since when have you been hanging out for a rich wife?”
“Took a sudden notion to get married,” explained Freddy, extemporizing cunningly. “Must have an heir!”
“As your father is in the prime of life,” said Biddenden, with heavy sarcasm, “and has two other sons beside yourself—”
“Too young to be married,” Freddy pointed out. “Well, look at it! Charlie’s up at Oxford, and Edmund ain’t even at Eton yet!”
