Cotillion

liked Rosie, and I like Jack! Spit and image of her! I don’t know why the rascal ain’t here tonight!” This recollection brought the querulous note back into his voice. He sat in silence for a moment or two, brooding over his favourite great-nephew’s defection. Biddenden directed a look of long-suffering at his brother, but Hugh sat with his eyes on Mr. Penicuik’s face, courteously waiting for him to resume his discourse. “Well, it don’t signify!” Mr. Penicuik said snappishly. “What I’m going to say is this: there’s no reason why I shouldn’t leave my money where I choose! You’ve none of you got a ha’porth of claim to it, so don’t think it! At the same time, I was never one to forget my own kith and kin. No one can say I haven’t done my duty by the family. Why, when I think of the times I’ve let you all come down here—nasty, destructive boys you were, too!—besides giving Dolphinton’s mother, who’s no niece of mine, a lot of advice she’d have done well to have listened to, when my nevvy Dolphinton died—well, there it is! I’ve got a feeling for my own blood there’s no explaining. George has it too: it’s the only thing I like about you, George. So it seemed to me that my money ought to go to one of you. At the same time, there’s Kitty, and I’m not going to deny that I’d like her to have it, and if I hadn’t a sense of what’s due to the family I’d leave it to her, and make no more ado about it!” He glanced from Biddenden to Hugh, and gave a sudden cackle of mirth. “I daresay you’ve often asked yourselves if she wasn’t my daughter, hey? Well, she ain’t! No relation of mine at all. She was poor Tom Charing’s child, all right and tight, whatever you may have suspected. She’s the last of the Charings, more’s the pity. Tom and I were lads together, but his father left him pretty well in the basket, and mine left me plump enough in the pocket. Tom died before Kitty was out of leading-strings, and there weren’t any Charings left, beyond a couple of sour old cousins, so I adopted the girl. Nothing havey-cavey about the business at all, and no reason why she shouldn’t marry into any family she chooses. So I’ve settled it that one of you shall have her, and my fortune into the bargain.”

“I must say, sir, it is an odd, whimsical notion!” Biddenden remarked. “And one which—”

“Whimsical!” exclaimed Hugh, in tones of disgust. “I had rather have called it outrageous!”

“Very well, my lad, if that’s what you think, don’t offer for her!” retorted Mr. Penicuik.

“Pray be silent, Hugh! May I enquire, sir, whether the whole of your estate is to be bequeathed to the—er— fortunate suitor?”

“To Kitty, once she safely married. I don’t hold with cutting up property.”

“And in the event of no offer’s being received?”

Mr. Penicuik gave vent to another of his cackles. “I ain’t afraid of that!”

Hugh rose to his feet, and stood towering above his greatuncle. “I will not be silenced! The whole of this scheme must be repugnant to any female of delicacy. Pray, which of us do you mean to compel her to marry?”

“Don’t stand there, giving me a crick in my neck!” said Mr. Penicuik. “I shan’t compel her to marry any of you. I don’t say I wouldn’t rather she had one than another, naming no names, but I’m not an unreasonable man, and I’m willing to let her have her pick amongst you. Plenty of you to choose from!”

“But what if she should refuse, sir?” asked Biddenden anxiously.

“Then I’ll leave my money to the Foundling Hospital, or some such thing!” replied Mr. Penicuik. “She won’t be such a zany!”

“Am I correct in assuming, sir, that Kitty has no fortune of her own?” demanded Hugh.

“Not a farthing piece,” said Mr. Penicuik cheerfully.

Hugh’s eyes flashed. “And you say you do not compel her! I marvel at you, sir! I may say that I am profoundly shocked! Without fortune, what hope can any female, circumstanced as Kitty is, have of achieving a respectable alliance?”

“She can’t have any, of course,” said Mr. Penicuik becoming momently more affable as his great-nephew’s choler rose.

“No, indeed!” exclaimed Lord Biddenden, almost shuddering at the thought of marriage with a portionless female. “Really, Hugh, you go too far! I don’t know where you learned your fantastic notions! One would say there had never been a marriage arranged before, yet you must be well aware that in our circle such things are always done! Your own sisters—”

“I have yet to learn that my sisters were forced into marriages that were distasteful to them!”

Mr. Penicuik opened his snuff-box again. “What makes you think marriage to one of you would be distasteful to the girl?” he asked blandly. “Maybe she don’t fancy you, but that ain’t to say there isn’t one amongst you she might not be glad to pick. She don’t know any other men, so there’s bound to be.” Inhaling too large a pinch of Nut Brown, he sneezed violently several times. When he had recovered from this seizure, he said: “Going to be open with you! Everyone knows the Charings: good stock, fit to couple with any family! The thing is, Kitty has French blood in her.”

This information was well known to the company, but he disclosed it with all the air of one making a damaging admission. “Evron was the name. Never knew much about the family myself. They were emigrés, but not noble—at least, if they were it’s more than Tom ever told me. They won’t trouble you: I saw to that! Fellow who said he was Kitty’s uncle came here once—oh, years ago! Brought his sons with him: couple of scrubby schoolboys, they were. I soon sent him to the rightabout: a very neat article I thought him! No use his trying to bamboozle me, and so I told him! A sponge, that’s what he was, if he wasn’t worse. However, to the best of my belief he took himself off to France again. I never heard any more of him, at all events. But Desirée—Kitty’s mother—” He broke off, and his gaze, which had been flickering from Biddenden’s face to the Reverend Hugh’s, transferred itself to the smouldering logs in the grate. He did not finish his sentence, but said, after a pause: “Pretty little thing, Kitty, but she’ll never be the equal of her mother. Favours poor Tom too much. Got something of her mother’s look: I see it now and then: but Des—Mrs. Charing—Well, never mind! That ain’t to the purpose.” He stretched out his hand towards the bell-rope, and pulled it vigorously. “I’ll have her in,” he said. “But, mind, now! I ain’t compelling her to choose any of you three—well, she can’t choose you, George, because you’re married already! I don’t know what brings you here: I never invited you!”

Lord Dolphinton, pleased to hear his words thus confirmed, turned his eyes towards his elder cousin, and remarked succinctly: “Told you so!”

Chapter II

A few minutes later, Miss Catherine Charing entered the room, accompanied by an elderly lady whose sparse gray locks had been crimped into ringlets which dangled on either side of an amiable if not comely countenance. The absence of a cap proclaimed her spinsterhood; she wore a high-gown of an unbecoming shade of puce; and carried a reticule in one bony hand. Mr. Penicuik no sooner saw her than he exclaimed with unnecessary violence: “Not you, woman, not you! Think I haven’t had a bellyful of your face today? Go away! go away!”

The elderly lady made a faint clucking noise, but although she looked frightened she did not seem to be surprised by this unconventional greeting. She said: “Oh, Mr. Penicuik! At such a time—such a delicate occasion—!”

“Kitty!” interrupted Mr. Penicuik. “Throw that Fish out of the room!”

The elderly lady uttered a protesting shriek; Miss Charing, however, pushed her gently but inexorably over the threshold, saying: “I told you how it would be!” She then closed the door, favoured the company with a wide-eyed and thoughtful gaze, and advanced into the middle of the room.

“Good girl!” approved Mr. Penicuik. “Sit down!”

“Take this chair!” urged Lord Biddenden.

“You will be comfortable here, my dear Kitty,” said the Reverend Hugh, indicating the chair from which he had risen at her entrance.

Not to be outdone, Lord Dolphinton gulped, and said: “Take mine! Not comfortable, but very happy to— Pray take it!”

Miss Charing bestowed a small, prim smile upon her suitors, and sat down on a straight chair by the table, and folded her hands in her lap.

Miss Charing was a rather diminutive brunette. She had a neat figure, very pretty hands and feet, and a countenance which owed much to a pair of large, dark eyes. Their expression was one of candour and of innocence, and she had a habit of fixing them earnestly (and sometimes disconcertingly) upon the face of any interlocutor. She had a slightly retrousse nose, a short upper-lip, a decided chin, and a profusion of dusky curls, which were dressed