He looked at Freddy with an expression of patient resignation; but Miss Charing, who had been vainly trying, ever since the news of the epidemic raging in the house had been broken to her, to think of an alternative to returning to Arnside on the morrow, said anxiously: “Is it about me, Freddy?”
“Of course it is. Famous good notion! Meg don’t want to stay with old Lady Buckhaven, don’t want Cousin Amelia to keep her company, can’t have Fanny, because she’s got the measles—better have you!”
Lord Legerwood, in the act of raising his claret-glass to his lips, lowered it again, and regarded his son almost with awe. “These unsuspected depths, Frederick—! I have wronged you!”
“Oh, I don’t know that, sir!” Freddy said modestly. “I ain’t clever, like Charlie, but I ain’t such a sapskull as you think!”
“I have always known you could not be, my dear boy.”
“Kitty to stay with Meg!” Lady Legerwood said, considering it dubiously. “I must say—But would it answer? I am sure Lady Buckhaven wishes her to have some older female with her, and I own—”
“No need to tell her Kit’s age, ma’am. Never leaves Gloucestershire, so she ain’t likely to find out. Besides, couldn’t kick up a dust! Affianced wife—can’t stay here, because of the measles, stays with m’sister instead. Quite the thing!”
“Oh, Freddy!” exclaimed Miss Charing, eyes and cheeks glowing, “it is a splendid scheme! Only, will your sister like it?”
“Like anything that kept her away from old Lady Buckhaven,” said Freddy. Upon reflection, he added: “Except Cousin Amelia. Well—stands to reason!”
So shortly after ten o’clock, just as Miss Charing was climbing into bed after a quiet evening spent in poring over the fashion-plates in various periodicals, Mr. Standen, beautiful to behold in knee-breeches and striped stockings, a blue coat with very long tails, a white waistcoat, and a neckcloth which caused an acquaintance almost to swoon with envy, sauntered into the vestibule at Almack’s Assembly Rooms. He handed his hat and his coat to an attendant lackey, gave a couple of twitches to his wrist-bands and favoured the great Mr. Willis with a nod.
Mr. Willis, according him the bow due to a Pink of the Ton, would not have dreamed of asking to see his voucher. Quite surprising persons might find themselves excluded from Almack’s, but not the most capricious of its patronesses would have entertained for a moment the thought of excluding Mr. Standen. He was neither witty nor handsome; his disposition was retiring; and although he might be seen at any social gathering, he never (except by the excellence of his tailoring) drew attention to himself. Not for Mr. Standen, the tricks and eccentricities of gentlemen seeking notoriety! He was quite a pretty whip, but no one had ever seen him take a fly off the leader’s ear, or heard of his breaking a record in a racing-curricle; he rode well to hounds, without earning the title of neck- or-nothing; and while he sometimes practised single-stick in Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, or tossed oft a third of daffy in Cribb’s Parlour, he was no Corinthian. Indeed, so far from aspiring to pop in a hit over Jackson’s guard, or to stand up for any number of rounds with some Pet of the Fancy, he would have disliked either experience very much indeed. Nor could anyone have thought him an ideal cavaliere-servente, for he was too inarticulate to pay charming compliments, and had never been known to indulge in the mildest flirtation. But a numerous circle of male acquaintances held him in considerable affection, and with the ladies he was a prime favourite. The most sought- after beauty was pleased to stand up with so graceful a dancer; any lady desirous of redecorating her drawing-room was anxious for his advice; no hostess considered her invitation-list complete without his name. His presence did not, of course, confer on a party the distinction that Mr. Brummell’s did, but he was a much more agreeable guest, never arriving long after he had been despaired of and then departing within twenty minutes, and never startling the old-fashioned by uttering calculated impertinences. He could be depended upon, too. He would not stand against the wall, refusing to dance; and no hostess, presenting him to the plainest damsel in the room, had the smallest fear that he would excuse himself, or abandon his partner at the earliest opportunity. He was an excellent escort for any lady deprived at the last moment of her lord’s attendance, for his appearance could not but add to her consequence, and he was always nice to a fault in every attention to her comfort.
Nor was the most jealous husband suspicious of him. “Oh, Freddy Standen!” said these green-eyed gentlemen. “In that case, ma’am, very well!”
So Mr. Willis, who did not condescend to chat with every visitor to the club, welcomed Mr. Standen affably, and frowned at the footman who was trying to present him with a quadrille-card. Whoever else might need instruction in the figures of the quadrille Mr. Standen most certainly did not.
“Seen Lady Buckhaven tonight, Willis?” enquired Freddy, bestowing a final touch to his neckcloth.
“Yes, indeed, sir. Her ladyship came in with my Lady Cowper half-an-hour ago. Mr. Westruther was one of her ladyship’s party.”
“Oh, he’s here, is he?” said Freddy. “Much of a squeeze?”
“No, sir, we are a little thin of company, the season not having begun,” replied Mr. Willis regretfully. “But it wants forty minutes till eleven, and no doubt we may expect to see the rooms fill up tolerably well.”
After this exchange, Freddy passed into the ballroom, and paused on the threshold, looking about him for his sister.
“Why, there is Freddy Standen!” exclaimed a bedizened matron. “I did not know he was in town again. Dear creature!”
She waggled a hand in a tight kid glove, but failed to attract his attention, this being claimed at that moment by a voice at his elbow. “Hallo, my Tulip! Didn’t you ruralize after all?”
The voice was full of lazy amusement, and it made Freddy turn quickly. It belonged to a tall man whose air and bearing proclaimed the Corinthian. Coat, neckcloth, fobs, seals, and quizzing-glass, all belonged to the Dandy; but the shoulders setting off the coat so admirably, and the powerful thighs, hidden by satin knee-breeches, betrayed the Blood, the out-and-outer not to be beaten on any sporting suit. The face above the starched shirt- points was a handsome one, with a mouth as mocking as its owner’s voice, and a pair of intensely blue eyes which laughed into Freddy’s. The sight of them might have caused Miss Charing’s heart to flutter, but they awoke in Mr. Standen quite different emotions. He opened his mouth to give utterance to a few of the sentiments which had been festering in his bosom for two days, and recollected with a sense of bitter frustration that he was pledged to utter none of them. He shut his mouth again, swallowed, and said merely: “Oh, hallo! You here, coz?”
“Yes, Freddy, yes: I am here, not my wraith! But what are you doing here? I thought to have heard of you at Arnside!”
“Got back today,” said Freddy.
Mr. Westruther’s eyes quizzed him maddeningly. “What a short stay, coz! Didn’t they make you welcome?”
Freddy had always rather admired and looked up to his splendid cousin, but he was not going to put up with this sort of thing. He replied, after only a moment’s rapid consideration: “Oh, toll-loll, but it’s a devilish uncomfortable house, and the old gentleman don’t like me to take my man there. Besides, no need to stay longer!”
“No?” said Mr. Westruther, amusement quivering in his voice.
It was seldom that Mr. Standen, a peace-loving young gentleman, was conscious of a wish to come to blows with his fellow-men, but a wistful desire to land his cousin a facer did for an instant flicker in his mind. Several circumstances rendered the gratification of this impulse ineligible, chief amongst them being the hallowed precincts in which they both stood, and the melancholy certainty that such violence could only lead to his own discomfiture. So instead of yielding to brutish instincts, he fell back upon finesse. Opening his snuff-box, he offered it to Jack, saying meditatively: “Queer start! Thought you were bamming me, and dashed nearly didn’t go. Daresay you didn’t know it, but the old gentleman’s going to leave his fortune to Kit, provided she marries one of us.”
Mr. Westruther helped himself to a pinch from the elegant gold box. “Some hint of this, I must own, coz, had reached my ears,” he said gravely.
“Surprised you didn’t go to Arnside, then,” said Freddy.
Mr. Westruther raised his brows. “But what made you think me a gazetted fortune-hunter, Freddy?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that!” said Freddy vaguely. “Daresay people took it for granted you and Kit would make a match of it. Thought myself the old gentleman meant to leave the blunt to you. Well, you did too, didn’t you? Been living on the expectancy for years!”
Mr. Westruther said appreciatively: “Well done, Freddy! A hit! I didn’t go to Arnside because I have the oddest dislike of having my hand forced. Our revered great-uncle’s whims are not unamusing, but this one goes beyond the line of what may be tolerated. When I go into wedded shackles it will be in my own time, and in my own
