‘No. Oh, my God!’
‘Why, what is the matter?’
‘I’ve just remembered that I am going to be.’
‘Don’t you want to be?’
‘No.’
‘But no one could forceyouto be married!’
‘My good girl, you do not know my relatives,’ said Sir Richard bitterly.
‘Did they talk to you, and talk to you, andtalkto you? And sayit was your duty? And plague your life out? And cry at you?’ asked Miss Creed.
‘Something of the sort,’ admitted Sir Richard. ‘Is that what your relatives did to you?’
‘Yes. So I stole Geoffrey’s second-best suit, and climbed out of the window.’
‘Who is Geoffrey?’
‘Oh, he is my other cousin! He is at Harrow, and his clothes fit me perfectly. Is this your house?’
‘This is my house.’
‘But wait!’ said Miss Creed. ‘Will not the porter be sitting up to open the door to you?’
‘I don’t encourage people to sit up for me,’ said Sir Richard, producing from his pocket a key, and fitting it into the lock.
‘But I expect you have a valet,’ suggested Miss Creed, hanging back. ‘He will be waiting to help you to bed.’
‘True,’ said Sir Richard. ‘But he will not come to my room until I ring the bell. You need have no fear.’
‘Oh, in that case –!’ said Miss Creed, relieved, and followed him blithely into the house.
A lamp was burning in the hall, and a candle was placed on a marble-topped table, in readiness for Sir Richard. He kindled it by thrusting it into the lamp, and led his guest into the library. Here there were more candles, in chandeliers fixed to the wall. Sir Richard lit as many of these as seemed good to him, and turned to inspect Miss Creed.
She had taken off her hat, and was standing in the middle of the room, looking interestedly about her. Her hair, which clustered in feathery curls on the top of her head, and was somewhat raggedly cut at the back, was guinea-gold; her eyes were a deep blue, very large and trustful, and apt at any moment to twinkle with merriment. She had a short little nose, slightly freckled, a most decided chin, and a pair of dimples.
Sir Richard, critically observing her, was unimpressed by these charms. He said: ‘You look the most complete urchin indeed!’
She seemed to take this as a tribute. She raised her candid eyes to his face, and said: ‘Do I? Truly?’
His gaze travelled slowly over her borrowed raiment. ‘Horrible!’ he said. ‘Are you under the impression that you have tied that – that travesty of a cravat in a Wyndham Fall?’
‘No, but the thing is I have never tied a cravat before,’ she explained.
‘That,’ said Sir Richard, ‘is obvious. Come here!’
She approached obediently, and stood still while his expert fingers wrought with the crumpled folds round her neck.
‘No, it is beyond even my skill,’ he said at last. ‘I shall have to lend you one of mine. Never mind; sit down, and let us talk this matter over. My recollection is none of the clearest, but I fancy you said you were going into Somerset to marry a friend of your childhood.’
‘Yes, Piers Luttrell,’ nodded Miss Creed, seating herself in a large armchair.
‘Furthermore, you are just seventeen.’
‘Turned seventeen,’ she corrected.
