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  Peregrine swung over to the window, and stood staring blindly out, one hand fidgeting with the curtain-tassel. His whole pose suggested that he was labouring under a strong sensation of chagrin. The Earl sat and watched him, a slight smile in his eyes. After a moment, as Peregrine seemed still to be struggling with himself, he got up and slipped off his dressing-gown, tossing it on to the bed. He strolled over to get his coat, and put it on. Having adjusted it carefully, flicked a speck of dust from his shining Hessians, and scrutinised his appearance critically in the long mirror, he picked up a Sèvres snuff-box from his dressing-table, and said: ‘Come! We will finish this conversation downstairs.’

  Peregrine turned reluctantly. ‘Lord Worth!’ he began on a long breath.

  ‘Yes, when we get downstairs,’ said the Earl, opening the door.

  Peregrine made a stiff little bow, and stood back for him to go first.

  The Earl went in his leisurely fashion down the stairs, and led the way into a pleasant library behind the saloon. The butler was just setting a tray bearing glasses and a decanter on the table. He arranged these to his satisfaction, and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

  The Earl picked up the decanter, and poured out two glasses of wine. One of them he held out to Peregrine. ‘Madeira, but if you prefer it I can offer you sherry,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, nothing for me,’ said Peregrine, with what he hoped was a fair imitation of his lordship’s own cold dignity.

  Apparently it was not. ‘Don’t be stupid, Peregrine,’ said Worth.

  Peregrine looked at him for a moment, and then, lowering his gaze, took the glass with a murmured word of thanks, and sat down.

  The Earl moved towards a deep chair with earpieces. ‘And now what is it?’ he asked. ‘I apprehend it to be a matter of some importance, since it sends you looking all over town for me.’

  His guardian’s voice being for once free from its usual blighting iciness, Peregrine, who had quite determined to go away without mentioning the business which had brought him, changed his mind, shot a swift, shy look at the Earl, and blurted out: ‘I want to talk to you on a – on a very delicate subject. In fact, marriage!’ He gulped down half the wine in his glass, and took another look at the Earl, this time tinged with defiance.

  Worth, however, merely raised his brows. ‘Whose marriage?’ he asked.

  ‘Mine!’ said Peregrine.

  ‘Indeed!’ Worth twisted the stem of his wineglass between his finger and thumb, idly watching the light on the tawny wine. ‘It seems a trifle sudden. Who is the lady?’

  Peregrine, who had been quite prepared to be met at the outset with a flat refusal to listen to him, took heart at this calm way of receiving the news, and sat forward in his chair. ‘I daresay you will not know her, sir, though I think you must know her parents, at least by repute.’

  The Earl was in the act of raising his glass to his lips, but he lowered it again. ‘She has parents, then?’ he asked, an inflexion of surprise in his voice.

  Peregrine stared. ‘Of course she has parents! What can you be thinking of ?’

  ‘Evidently of something quite different,’ murmured his lordship. ‘But continue: who are these parents who are known to me by repute?’

  ‘Sir Geoffrey and Lady Fairford,’ said Peregrine, watching very anxiously to see how this disclosure would be met. ‘Sir Geoffrey is a member of Brooks’s, I believe. They live in Albe-marle Street, and have a place near St Albans. He is a Member of Parliament.’

  ‘They sound most respectable,’ said Worth. ‘Pour yourself out another glass of wine, and tell me how long you have known this family.’

  ‘Oh, a full month!’ Peregrine assured him, getting up and going over to the table.

  ‘That is certainly a period,’ said the Earl gravely.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Peregrine, ‘you need not be afraid that I have just fallen in love yesterday. I am quite sure of my mind in this. A month is fully long enough for that.’

  ‘Or a day, or an hour,’ said the Earl musingly.

  ‘Well, to tell you the truth,’ confided Peregrine, reddening, ‘I was sure the instant I set eyes on Miss Fairford, but I waited, because I knew you would only say something cut –’ He broke off in some confusion. ‘I mean –’

  ‘Something cutting,’ supplied the Earl.‘You were probably right.’

  ‘Well, I daresay you would not have listened to me,’ said Peregrine defensively. ‘But now you must realise that it is perfectly serious. Only, from the circumstances of my being under age, Sir Geoffrey would have it that nothing could be in a way to be settled until your consent was gained.’

  ‘Very proper,’ commented the Earl.

  ‘Sir Geoffrey will have no scruple in agreeing to it if you are not against it,’ urged Peregrine. ‘Lady Fairford, too, is all complaisance. There is no objection there.’

  The Earl threw him a somewhat scornful but not unkindly glance. ‘It would surprise me very much if there were,’ he said.

  ‘Well, have I your permission to address Miss Fairford?’ demanded Peregrine. ‘It cannot signify to you in the least, after all!’

  The Earl did not immediately reply to this. He sat looking rather enigmatically at his ward for some moments, and then opened his snuff-box, and meditatively took a pinch.

  Peregrine fidgeted about the room, and at last burst out with: ‘Hang it, why should you object?’

  ‘I was not aware that I had objected,’ said Worth. ‘In fact, I have little doubt that if you are of the same mind in six months’ time I shall quite willingly give my consent.’

  ‘Six months!’ ejaculated Peregrine, dismayed.

  ‘Were you thinking of marrying Miss Fairford at once?’ inquired Worth.

  ‘No, but we – I had hoped at least to be betrothed at once.’

  ‘Certainly. Why not?’ said the Earl.

  Peregrine brightened. ‘Well, that is something, but I don’t see that we need wait all that time to be married. Surely if we were betrothed for three months, say –’

  ‘At the end of six months,’ said Worth, ‘we will talk about marriage. I am not in the mood today.’

  Peregrine could not be satisfied, but having expected worse, he accepted it with a good grace, and merely asked whether the betrothal might be formally announced.

  ‘It can make very little difference,’ said the Earl, who seemed to be fast losing interest in the affair. ‘Do as you please about it: your prospective mother-in-law will no doubt inform all her acquaintance of it, so it may as well be as formal as you like.’

  ‘Lady Fairford,’ said Peregrine severely, ‘is a very superior woman, sir, quite above that sort of thing.’

  ‘If she is above trying to secure a husband with an estate of twelve thousand pounds a year for her daughter she is unique,’ said the Earl with a certain tartness.

  Nine

  THE BETROTHAL WAS ANNOUNCED IN THE COLUMNS OF THE Morning Post, and its most immediate effect was to bring Admiral Taverner to Brook Street with a copy of the paper under his arm, and an expression of strong indignation on his face. He wasted no time in civilities, and not even the presence of Mrs Scattergood had the power to prevent him making known his mind. He demanded to know what they were all about to let Peregrine make such wretched work of his future. ‘Miss Harriet Fairford!’ he said. ‘Who is Miss Harriet Fairford? I thought it had not been possible when I read it. “Depend upon it,” I said (for Bernard was with me), “Depend upon it, it is all a damned hum! The lad will not be throwing himself away on the first pretty face he sees.” But you don’t speak; you say nothing! Is it true then?’

  Miss Taverner begged him to be seated. ‘Yes, sir, it is quite true.’

  The Admiral muttered something under his breath that sounded like an oath, and crumpling up the paper threw it into a corner of the room. ‘It does not signify talking!’ he said. ‘Was there ever such an ill-managed business? Damn me, the boy’s no more than nineteen! He is not to be getting married at his age. Upon my so