“And, as you remarked, you have experience,” she murmured. He bowed ironically.
“Altogether she’s as spirited a filly as you could wish for. All she needs is bringing to heel.”
“Does one bring a filly to heel? I rather thought—”
“As usual, my dear Lavinia, you are right: one does not. One breaks in a filly. I beg leave to thank you for correcting my mixed metaphor.”
“Oh, pray do not mention it.”
“I will cease to do so. She needs breaking in. It should be amusing to tame her.”
“Should it?” She looked curiously at him.
“Vastly. And I am persuaded it can be done. I will have her.”
“But what if she’ll none of you?”
Suddenly the heavy lids were raised.
“She will have no choice.”
Lady Lavinia shivered and sat up.
“La, Tracy! Will you have no sense of decency?” she cried. “I suppose,” she sneered, “you think to kidnap the girl?”
“Exactly,” he nodded.
She gasped at the effrontery of it.
“Heavens, are you mad? Kidnap a lady! This is no peasant girl, remember. Tracy, Tracy, pray do not be foolish! How can you kidnap her?”
“That, my dear, is a point which I have not yet decided. But I do not anticipate much trouble.”
“But goodness gracious me! has the child no protectors? No brothers? No father?”
“There is a father,” said Tracy slowly. “He was here at the beginning of their stay. He does not signify, and, which is important, he is of those that truckle. Were I to make myself known to him, I believe I might marry the girl within an hour. But I do not want that. At least—not yet.”
“Good God, Tracy! do you think you are living in the Dark Ages? One cannot do these things now, I tell you! Will you not at least remember that you represent our house? ’Twill be a pretty thing an there is a scandal!” She broke off hopelessly and watched him flick a remnant of snuff from his cravat.
“Oh, Tracy! ’Tis indeed a dangerous game you play. Pray consider!”
“Really, Lavinia, you are most entertaining. I trust I am capable of caring for myself and mine own honour.”
“Oh, don’t sneer—don’t sneer!” she cried. “Sometimes I think I quite hate you!”
“You would be the more amusing, my dear.”
She swept the back of her hand across her eyes in a characteristic movement.
“How cross I am!” she said, and laughed waveringly. “You must bear with me, Tracy. Indeed, I am not well.”
“You should take the waters,” he repeated.
“Oh, I do!—I do! And that reminds me that I must look for your beauty.”
“She is not like to be there,” he answered. “ ’Tis only very seldom that she appears.”
“What! Is she then religieuse?”
“Religieuse! Why, in heaven’s name?”
“But not to walk in the Rooms—!”
“She is staying here with her aunt, who has been ill. They do not mix much in society.”
“How very dreadful! Yet she used to walk in the Rooms, for you met her there?”
“Yes,” he admitted coolly. “ ’Tis for that reason that she now avoids them.”
“Oh, Tracy, the poor child!” exclaimed his sister in a sudden fit of pity. “How can you persecute her, if she dislikes you?”
“She does not.”
“Not! Then—”
“Rather, she fears me. But she is intrigued, for all that. I persecute her, as you call it, for her own (and my) ultimate good. But they quit Bath in a few days, and then, nous verrons!” He rose. “What of Honest Dick?”
“Don’t call him by that odious name! I will not have it!”
“Odious, my dear? Odious? You would have reason an I called him Dishonest Dick.”
“Don’t! Don’t!” she cried, covering her ears. His Grace laughed softly.
“Oh, Lavinia, you must get the better of these megrims of yours, for there is nought that sickens a man sooner, believe me.”
“Oh, go away!—go away!” she implored. “You tease me and tease me until I cannot bear it, and indeed I do not mean to be shrewish! Please go!”
“I am on the point of doing so, my dear. I trust you will have in a measure recovered when next I see you. Pray bear my respects to Hon—to the Honourable Richard.”
She stretched out her hand.
“Come again soon!” she begged. “I shall be better tomorrow! ’Tis only today that my head aches till I could shriek with the worry and the pain of it! Come again!”
“Unfortunately I anticipate leaving Bath within a day or two. But nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to comply with your wishes.” He kissed her hand punctiliously, and took his leave. At the door he paused, and looked back mockingly. “By the way—her name is—Diana.” He bowed again and swept out, as Lavinia buried her face in the cushions and burst into tears.
It was thus that Richard found her, twenty minutes later, and his concern was so great that it in part restored her spirits, and she spent a quiet and, for him, blissful evening, playing at piquet.
In the middle of a game she suddenly flung down her hand and caught at his wrist.
“Dicky, Dicky—I will go home!”
“Go home? What do you mean? Not—”
“Yes, yes—Wyncham! Why not?”
“My dear, do you mean it?” His voice quivered with joyful surprise, and the cards slipped from his hands.
“Yes, I mean it! But take me quickly before I change my mind! I can sleep at Wyncham, and here I lie awake all night, and my head aches. Take me home and I will try to be a better wife! Oh, Dicky, have I been tiresome and exacting? I did not mean to be! Why do you let me?” She came quickly round the table and knelt at his side, giving no heed to the crumpling of her billowing silks. “I have been a wicked, selfish woman!” she said vehemently. “But indeed I will be better. You must not let me be bad—you must not, I tell you!”
He flung his arm about her plump shoulders and drew her tightly to him.
“When I get you home at Wyncham, I promise you I will finely hector
