Whatever might have been the Viscount’s intentions when the dance ended, they were frustrated by the descent upon him of Mr Guynette, the Master of Ceremonies. Mr Guynette was well accustomed to handling reluctant gentlemen, and before his victim was aware of what was happening, he had presented him to quite the plainest damsel in the room, a circumstance which should have brought home to his lordship the unwisdom of neglecting to write his name in the Master’s subscription-book. Common civility obliged Sherry to ask the plain young lady to stand up with him, and as she had no hesitation in accepting the invitation, he was condemned to another half-hour of purgatory. The first cotillion followed, which Hero danced with George; and then everyone went in to tea. Isabellahad by this time collected the usual court round herself, of which the most prominent member seemed to be Sir Montagu; Hero and Mr Tarleton were seated at a table which had no vacant place when the Viscount succeeded in edging his way into the crowded tea-room; so the end of it was that his lordship was forced to join several unpartnered gentlemen by the buffet. Here he found Lord Wrotham, who was wearing his well-known thunder-cloud aspect; and such was the state of his mind that he forgot that he had parted from Wrotham on the worst of bad terms, and hailed him thankfully as a kindred spirit.
‘Of all the abominably stupid evenings!’ he ejaculated. ‘It is ten times worse than Almack’s!’
‘I should like to know,’ said George, eyeing him broodingly, ‘what the devil you meant by telling me it was I who had engaged Miss Milborne’s affections?’
‘Never told you any such thing!’ replied the Viscount. ‘Not but what she as good as told me so. What’s put you in a miff?’
‘I begged to be allowed to take her in to tea, and she said she was promised to Monty. I stood up with her for the second country dance, and she behaved as though she had never met me before in her life!’
‘Well, let that be a lesson to you not to dance attendance on my wife!’ said Sherry, with asperity.
‘She cannot think that there is anything beyond common friendship between Kitten and me!’ George said.
‘Who asked you to call my wife Kitten?’ demanded the Viscount belligerently.
‘You did,’ replied George.
‘Oh!’ said Sherry, dashed.
‘I will not believe the Incomparable could credit such nonsense!’ George declared, flushing. ‘Why, what reason have I ever given her to think that I would so much as look at another female?’
‘Well, upon my word!’ exclaimed Sherry. ‘If that don’t beat all! If kissing my wife at the Fakenhams’ ball isn’t reason enough –’
‘She knew nothing of that!’
‘Oh yes, she did! Kitten tried to persuade her to beg you not to meet me!’
‘Good God!’ George uttered, turning pale. ‘Then was that why – I must speak with her!’
‘You won’t do it here,’ said Sherry, with gloomy satisfaction. ‘Come to think of it, a pretty pair of cakes we must look, you and I, running after a couple of females who won’t have anything to do with us! And nothing to drink but this curst tea!’
‘She will have Monty!’ George said heavily.
‘Not she!’
‘She is going in his curricle on some damned expedition to-morrow. She told me so. I will not waste my time here any longer. I shall go back to the White Hart. They have a very tolerable Chambertin there.’
‘Dashed if I won’t come with you!’ said Sherry.
‘You cannot. You are escorting Lady Sheringham and Miss Milborne.’
‘I’ll be back in time to take ’em home,’ said Sherry, ‘unless – By Jove, I might force Ferdy to give up his place in the cotillion to me!’
‘What’s the use of that?’ George said. ‘I’ve done much the same thing before now, but the fact of the matter is a ball is no place for private conversation. You are for ever being separated by the movement of the dance, and it all ends in a quarrel.’
‘Well, I dare say you may be right,’ Sherry said. ‘And if I bore Kitten off –’
‘You can’t do that!’ George said, shocked. ‘Devilish strict at these balls! What’s more, if she refused to go with you, you’d look a bigger cake than you do now.’
‘Yes, my God, so I should!’ agreed Sherry. ‘I was a fool to have come! Let us go, George!’
So the two ladies who had spared no pains to demonstrate their indifference to their lordships had the doubtful pleasure of seeing them withdraw from the festivities. They should have been gratified to find their hints so well understood, but gratification was not the emotion uppermost in either swelling bosom. After seeking a certain amount of relief in pointedly ignoring one another for the next hour, each lady developed the headache, and discovered an ardent desire to go home.
TWENTY-FOUR
HERO, WHO HADpassed a sleepless night, arose next morning with a headache indeed, and with suspiciously swollen eyes. Lady Saltash took one look at her, and sent her back to bed, recommending her to glance in her mirror, and decide for herself whether she wished to show her husband, or anyone else, that woebegone face.
‘Oh, ma’am, do you think he will come this morning?’ Hero asked. ‘I am persuaded he is thinking only of Isabella! When I saw him stand up with her for the country dance –Sherry!– I felt ready to sink!’
