‘Oh, Amabelle,’ cried Philadelphia, ‘unkind, unkind! I thought that you at least would be able to advise us.’
‘If you really want my advice here it is, but you won’t like it much. Don’t say a word to anybody; don’t let your mother or Bobby suspect a thing, but have a lovely time together till next week, when Paul is going away in any case. Then, as soon as Michael has finished having jaundice, announce your engagement to him. Please believe me when I say that you’ll be very happy with him. I know Michael so well and I feel sure of it. He’ll take you for a gorgeous honeymoon, all round the world perhaps, and when you get back you’ll settle down at that exquisite Lewes Park and have some nice babies, and entertain a lot, and be the best-dressed marchioness in England. I don’t know how you can hesitate, I really don’t.’
Philadelphia began to cry again.
‘Thank you for nothing,’ said Paul loudly and angrily. ‘Look how you’ve upset my poor darling Delphie. Don’t cry, my precious; you shan’t marry that old bore, he’d drive you mad in a week. I thought at least you would have shown us some sympathy, Amabelle, but I suppose it’s too much to expect even that. You women are all the same, a lot of blasted matchmakers, that’s what you are.’
‘Paul, Paul, don’t be so bitter. You must have known that I of all people would take the common sense point of view. Just think for a moment; use your intelligence, my dear. You and Philadelphia have known each other for exactly three weeks. You both think, honestly I’m sure, that you are ready to undergo almost intolerable hardships over a period of years, and possibly for life, in order to be able to remain in each other’s company. I say that it would be much easier, more to your mutual advantage and eventual happiness, if you could bring yourselves to part now and lead different lives. That’s all.’
‘Of course,’ said Philadelphia, sniffing rather loudly, ‘my mother would probably give us some sort of allowance once we were actually married; she’d be obliged to, really.’
‘I doubt it very much,’ said Amabelle; ‘from what I know of your mother’s character I should think it most unlikely. At present she naturally wishes you to marry Michael; when you tell her of your engagement to Paul she will be furious, and doubly so when she discovers the trick that has been played on her all this time. Think of her feelings when you tell her that he is not only not Mr Fisher, but actually that Mr Fotheringay whom she refused to have in the house!’
‘Yes, that’s awful, I must say,’ said Paul.
‘And what will happen? Angry words will pass of the sort that can never, never be forgotten, and you will find yourselves faced with the alternative of eloping on the spot and living on Paul’s £300 a year’ (Amabelle had an amazing faculty for knowing to a penny the incomes of her friends) ‘or of staying at home and leading an incredibly drab and dreary life, more or less in disgrace with your mother, until he can make enough money to support you in moderate comfort, which, as far as I can see, will be never.’
‘Oh, God!’ said Paul.
‘I’m sorry to be so depressing, but I say again, for heaven’s sake, marry Michael. If you don’t I see nothing but trouble ahead for you, my poor Philadelphia.’
‘Now listen to me, Amabelle,’ said Philadelphia, with unexpected firmness. ‘I am not going to marry Michael, and I am going to marry Paul. Get that clear, and then tell me what I ought to do about it.’
Amabelle frowned. She was incapable of seeing Philadelphia’s point of view, and thought that the child was being merely obstinate.
‘Thank heaven I haven’t got a daughter,’ she said impatiently. ‘However, if you really mean what you say, I consider that there is only one course open to you. Refuse Michael, giving no reason for doing so, keep all this a deadly secret (and by that I mean a secret – no hints or half-confessions to anybody, you understand) and wait for a few months while Paul finds some good, steady job. Then let Bobby go to your mother, tell her the whole story and ask her to give you enough money to be married; he is much more likely to get round her than you are, I imagine. By then she will have lost all hope of Michael as a son-in-law and may be quite anxious to get you off, even to somebody as ineligible as Paul. Only it’s essential that he should first get a proper job and keep it for a few months. That seems to me your only possible hope. And of course, Paul, it goes without saying that you must give up the idea of publishing Lady Maria’s life, anyhow, until you have got a good marriage settlement tucked away.’
Paul and Philadelphia looked glum. The prospect of a glamorous elopement was far more attractive to them than a course of action which necessitated on
