“Most of ’em,” nodded her aunt.
“But can’t he tell that I shall be—oh, so miserable, and that I should not ruin my life if I married him?”
“My dear, once a man gets an idea into his head, ’tis the very devil to get it out of him! Not but what I think Master Jack is right, mind you. And your dear papa and I had looked higher for you. After all—what is Mr. Carr?”
“He is the only man I will ever marry! So you may cease looking higher for me! I suppose you want me to marry that great gaby, Sir Denis Fabian, you are forever inviting to the house? Or, perhaps, this gallant Mr. Bettison? Or Mr. Everard? How can you be so unkind?”
“I am not. But I could not bear to see you throw yourself away on a highwayman, my dear.”
Diana ran to her, putting her arms round her neck.
“Dearest auntie, forgive my rudeness! I know you did not mean to be unkind! But you do not understand—I love him.”
“I always said you’d take it badly,” nodded Miss Betty gloomily.
“Take what badly?”
“Love. And no man is worth one teardrop, sweet.”
The confident, tender little laugh that answered this statement made her look at her suddenly changed niece in surprise.
“You don’t know,” said Diana. Her eyes were soft and luminous. “You just do not know.”
Before Miss Betty could think of a suitable retort, a knock fell on the door. It was opened, and Thomas was found to be without.
“My Lady O’Hara is below, madam.”
For an instant the two ladies stared at one another. Then:
“La and drat!” said Miss Betty. “With the drawing-room in a muddle after cleaning!”
Diana nodded to the man.
“We will come, Thomas.” Then as soon as he had withdrawn, she stared again at her aunt. “Lady O’Hara! But why?”
“I suppose she felt she must call after Sir Miles had been here so often. But why, for goodness’ sake, must she choose the one day that the drawing-room is all untidy? Drat again, I say!”
Diana was powdering her little nose, and anxiously looking to see if the tear-stains had quite vanished.
“ ’Tis not untidy, Aunt Betty. Oh, I am quite eager to see her—I think she must be charming, from all Sir Miles said. Do hurry, aunt!”
Miss Betty stuck a pin into her hair and smoothed out her dress.
“And me in this old taffeta!” she grumbled.
Diana swirled round, her own peach-coloured silk rustling fashionably.
“Never mind, dear—you look very sweet. But do be quick!” Miss Betty suffered herself to be led to the door.
“ ’Tis all very fine for you, my love, with a new gown fresh on today! Will you just take a look at my petticoat, though?”
“Nonsense, you are beautiful! Come!”
Together they descended the stairs, and went into the drawing-room.
A dainty, very diminutive little lady arose from a chair at their entry, and came forward with outstretched hands, and such a fascinating smile that Miss Betty’s ill-humour vanished, and she responded to her visitor’s deep curtsy with one of her best jerky dips.
“I am vastly delighted to welcome you, madam,” she said primly. “ ’Tis good in you to come this long way to see us.”
She drew a chair forward for my lady, and presented her niece. Lady O’Hara gave the girl a swift, scrutinising glance, and curtsied again.
“ ’Tis a great pleasure to me to meet you at last, Miss Beauleigh,” she smiled. “My husband has told me so much of you, I declare I was all agog to meet you!”
Diana warmed instantly to the little lady’s charm.
“Indeed, madam, we, too, have heard much of you from Sir Miles. We have wanted to meet you!”
Lady O’Hara seated herself and nodded briskly.
“I expect he told you some dreadful tales of me,” she said happily. “I must ask your pardon for not having visited you before, but, as I daresay you know, I have been away, and, gracious me, when I returned everything seemed topsy-turvy!” She laughed across at Miss Betty. “I promise you I have had my hands full putting things to rights, Miss Beauleigh!”
Miss Betty drew her chair closer, and in a minute they were deep in truly feminine conversation: the prodigious extravagance of the servants; the helplessness of menfolk when left to themselves, and then London, its shops, its parks, the newest play.
Lady O’Hara was begged to take a dish of Miss Betty’s precious Bohea—a very high honour indeed—and when Mr. Beauleigh came into the room he found his sister and daughter seated on either side of a pretty, animated little lady whom he had never before seen, talking hard, and partaking of tay and angel cakes. Whereupon he retired hastily and shut himself up in his library.
XVII
Lady O’Hara Wins Her Point
Lady O’Hara looked across at her sleeping husband with no little severity in her glance. He was stretched in a chair beneath a giant oak, and she was busied with some needlework a few paces from him. O’Hara’s eyes were shut and his mouth open. My lady frowned and coughed. She rasped her throat quite considerably, but it was not without effect; her spouse shut his mouth and opened one lazy eyelid. Immediately my lady assumed an air of gentle mournfulness, and the eye regarding her twinkled a little, threatening to close. Molly looked reproachful, and began to speak in an aggrieved tone:
“Indeed, and I do not think it at all kind in you to go to sleep when I want to talk, sir.”
O’Hara hastily opened the other eye.
“Why, my love, I was not asleep! I was—er—thinking!”
“Do you say so, sir? And do you usually think with your mouth open—snoring?”
O’Hara started up.
“I’ll swear I did not snore!” he cried. “Molly, ’tis a wicked tease ye are!”
“Miles, ’tis a big baby you are!” she mimicked. “There is a caterpillar on your wig, and ’tis on crooked.”
“The caterpillar?” asked O’Hara, bewildered.
“No, stupid, the wig.
