“First, you have never asked me where I was gone to all yesterday afternoon.”
O’Hara had been carefully broken in, and he now knew what was expected of him, and put on an expression of great interest.
“Where did ye go, my lady?”
“I went to call on Miss Beauleigh and her niece, sir!”
She looked up at him triumphantly and a little challengingly.
“The devil ye did!”
“Certainly, sir. I knew that there was something in the air, and I remembered your letter to me saying that Jack was in love with Diana. So I thought I would go and see her for myself.”
Miles looked down at her half indulgently, half vexedly.
“Did you, puss?”
“I did. And I found that she was in love with him as well as he with her—of course.”
“Of course?”
“Who could help falling in love with him? He’s so monstrous captivating, I would like to marry him myself.”
She bent her head to hide the roguish smile that had sprung to her lips.
“I beg your pardon?” asked O’Hara, startled.
My lady traced patterns on his knee.
“Provided, of course, that I had not already married you, Miles.”
But O’Hara had seen the smile. He heaved a great sigh, and said in lugubrious tones:
“There is always the river, madam.”
My lady’s finger wavered and stopped, and her hand tucked itself away into his.
“That is not a nice joke, Miles.”
He laughed, and tweaked one of her curls.
“Sure, and did ye not ask for it, asthore?”
“Of course I did not. But about Jack, dear—”
“I thought it was about Jack?”
“Miles, will you be quiet and attend?”
“Yes, m’dear.”
“Very well, then. As I have told you, I drove over to Littledean yesterday afternoon, and made the acquaintance of the Miss Beauleighs.”
“And what did ye think of them?”
“I thought Diana was wonderfully beautiful—such eyes, Miles!—and such hair! Miss Beauleigh is very amiable, and so droll! I drank a dish of tay with them, and I spoke of Jack—”
“Madcap, never tell me ye called him Carstares?”
“No, you great gaby! Of course I did not. As it chanced, Miss Beauleigh mentioned him first, and she called him Mr. Carr. So I did, too. And I noticed that Diana said scarce a word about him, and when she did ’twas of the coolest. That, of course, made me all the more certain that she loved him.”
O’Hara was plainly puzzled.
“But why should you be certain if she did not speak of him, alanna?”
“ ’Tis what you’ll never understand, my dear, because you are but a man. But no matter—I knew. I quite adored Diana, and determined to talk to her alone. So I admired the roses, and she offered to escort me round the garden, which was what I wanted. We went out together. I think Diana must have liked me, for—”
“Nonsense!”
“Be quiet, Miles!—for she dropped her ice and became quite friendly. And I talked a lot.”
She was aware of a convulsive movement above her, and a suppressed cough. She raised inquiring eyebrows.
“Well, sir?”
“Nothing, asthore—nothing. Go on with the tale—you were saying—”
“That I talked a lot.” She paused, and her eyes dared him; then she dimpled and dropped her lashes over them. “I shan’t tell you all I said—”
A relieved sigh interrupted her.
“And if you continue to behave in this disagreeable fashion I shall not say another word about anything!”
Having satisfied herself that he was not going to venture a retort, she continued:
“We had a long chat, and I gathered, from all she said and left unsaid, that Jack, for some foolish reason, will not ask her to marry him.”
“Foolish reason, asthore?” he interrupted.
“Oh, I know you consider it a remarkable fine reason, but I tell you, ’tis rank cruelty to that poor child. As if she cared about highwaymen!”
“ ’Twas not so much that, I take it, as—”
“Yes, but he could tell her he was innocent—oh, Miles, do not look so provoking! Of course he could! I vow if you had treated me so, I would never have let you go until you had truly repented! I am of a mind to speak to Jack.”
“ ’Twould be an entertaining sight, but ye’ll kindly have a care how you touch him, my lady.”
“He does not understand. I know she would be proud to marry him—”
“And ye’d think it a fine thing in Jack to ask her, the way things are with him at present?”
“I—oh, I don’t know!”
“No, me love. Jack is right: he must first clear his name.”
“Then, gracious goodness me, why does he not?” cried Molly, exasperated.
This time it was O’Hara’s turn to look superior.
“Well, alanna, that’s a question ye cannot hope to understand—because ye are but a woman.”
Lady O’Hara ignored the challenge.
“But what is to be done?”
“Nought. He will have to work it out himself. He bound me to secrecy some time ago, or I would be tempted to speak to Richard.”
“I quite hate Richard!” she cried. “He must be a selfish, unkind person. And now Jack swears he must go away almost at once—and, oh! you should have seen Diana’s face of despair when I mentioned that he was going abroad again. Miles, we must keep him here as long as ever we can! Oh, dear! ’tis all very worrying.”
She broke off as O’Hara pressed her hand warningly. My lord was coming across the lawn towards them.
“I am in dire disgrace,” he said. “I was left with your ferocious baby, Molly, and to quiet him, I gave him a string of beads that you had left on the table.”
“My precious Indian wooden beads!”
“Yes—I believe so. Anyway, the paint came off, and when Jane returned, David looked as though he had some horrible disease. She was most annoyed about it.” He sat down in Molly’s lately vacated chair, and carefully wiped a daub of green from his forefinger.
Molly laughed.
“Poor Jane! She will have such a task
