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  She had introduced this new topic in the hope of diverting Mr Steane from the real object of his visit, and the gambit succeeded to admiration, though not in the way she had expected. Instead of going into a passion, he burst into a guffaw, slapping his thigh, and gasping: 'By God, that's the best joke I've heard in years! Caught in parson's mousetrap, is he? Damme if I don't write to felicitate him! That'll sting him on the raw! Why, he cast me off for eloping with Jane Wisset, and though I don't say she was of the first rank she wasn't a housekeeper!' He went off into another guffaw, which ended in a wheezing cough; and as soon as he was able to fetch his breath again, invited Henrietta to describe his stepmother to him. She was unable to do this, but she did regale him with some of the things Desford had told her. He was particularly delighted by the quarrel between the newly married couple which had sprung up over the silk shawl, and again slapped his thigh, declaring that it served the old hunks right. He then said, wistfully, that he wished he could have seen his brother's face when the news had been broken to him. He began to chuckle, but another thought occurred to him, and brought a cloud to his brow. 'The worst of it is he can't cut Jonas out of the inheritance,' he said gloomily. 'Still,' he added after brooding over this reflection for a few moments, and speaking in a more hopeful tone: 'I shouldn't wonder at it if this housekeeper makes the old muckworm bleed freely, so the chances are Jonas won't come into as big a fortune as he expected to.' He favoured Henrietta with a bland smile, and said: 'One should always try to look on the bright side. It has ever been my rule. You would be astonished, I daresay, how often the worst disasters do have a brighter aspect.'

  She was as much diverted as she was shocked by this simple revelation of Mr Steane's character, and felt herself unable to do more than murmur an affirmative. Any hope that she might have entertained of Mr Steane's forgetting his daughter's pre dicament in the contemplation of his brother's rage and chagrin were dispelled by his next words. 'Well, well!' he said. 'Little did I think that I should enjoy such an excellent joke today! But it will not do, Miss Silverdale! Jokes are out of place at such a time, when my breast is racked with anxiety. I accept that Lord Desford did go to Harrowgate; and I can only say that if he was such a dummy as to think he could fob my unfortunate child off on to her grandfather he has been like a woodcock, justly slain by its own treachery. Or words to that effect. My memory fails me, but I know a woodcock comes into it.'

  What she might have been goaded to retort remained unspoken, for at this moment the Viscount came into the room. The thought that flashed into her mind was that he might have been designed to form a contrast to Wilfred Steane. There were fewer than twenty years between them, and it was easy to see that Steane had been a handsome man in his youth. But his good looks had been ruined by dissipation; and his figure spoke just as surely as his face of a life of indolence and over-indulgence. Nor were these faults remedied by his manner, or his dress. In both he favoured a florid style, which made him appear, in Henrietta's critical eyes, disastrously like a demi-beau playing off the airs of an exquisite. Desford, on the other hand, was complete to a shade, she thought. He had a handsome countenance; a lithe, athletic figure; and if the plain coat of blue super fine which he wore had had a label stitched to it bearing the name of Weston it could not have proclaimed the name of its maker more surely than did its superb cut. His air was distinguished; his manners very easy, and unaffected; and while there was no suggestion of the Pink, or the Bond Street Spark, about his trim person it was generally agreed in tonnish circles that his quiet elegance was the Real thing.

  He shut the door, and advanced towards Henrietta, who had exclaimed thankfully: 'Desford!'

  'Hetta, my love!' he responded, smiling at her, and kissing her hand. He stood holding it in a warm clasp for a minute, as he said: 'Had you despaired of me? I think you must have, and I do beg your pardon! I had hoped to have been with you before this.'

  She returned the pressure of his fingers, and then drew her hand away, saying playfully: 'Well, at all events, you've arrived in time to make the acquaintance of Cherry's father, who isn't dead, after all! You must allow me to make you known to each other: Mr Wilfred Steane, Lord Desford!'

  The Viscount turned, and raised his quizzing-glass, and through it surveyed Mr Steane, not for very long, but with daunting effect. Henrietta was forced to bite her lip quite savagely to suppress the laughter that bubbled up in her. It was so very unlike Des to do anything so odiously top-lofty! 'Oh,' he said. He bowed slightly. 'I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir.'

  'I would I might say the same!' returned Mr Steane. 'Alas that we should meet, sir, under such unhappy circumstances!'

  The Viscount looked surprised. 'I beg your pardon?'

  'Lord Desford, I have much to say to you, but it would be better that I should speak privately to you!'

  'Oh, I have no secrets from Miss Silverdale!' said Desford.

  'My respect for a lady's delicate sensibilities has hitherto sealed my lips,' said Steane reprovingly. 'Far be it from me to ask a question that might bring a blush to female cheeks! But I have such a question to put to you, my lord!'

  'Then by all means do put it to me!' invited Desford. 'Never mind Miss Silverdale's sensibilities! I daresay they aren't by half as delicate as you suppose – in fact, I'm quite sure they are not! You don't wish to retire, do you, Hetta?'

  'Certainly not! I have not the remotest intention of doing so, either. I cut my eye-teeth many years ago, Mr Steane, and if what you have already said to me failed to bring a blush to my cheeks it is not very likely that whatever you are about to say will succeed in doing so! Pray ask Lord Desford any question you choose!'

  Mr Steane appeared to be grieved by this response, for he sighed, and shook his head, and murmured: 'Modern manners! It was not so in my young days! But so be it! Lord Desford, are you betrothed to Miss Silverdale?'

  'Well, I certainly hope I am!' replied the Viscount, turning his laughing eyes towards Henrietta. 'But what in the world has that to say to anything? I might add – do forgive me! – what in the world has it to do with you, sir?'

  Mr Steane was not really surprised. He had known from the moment Desford had entered the room, and had exchanged smiles with Henrietta, that a strong attachment existed between them. But he was much incensed, and said, far from urbanely: 'Then I wonder at your shamelessness, sir, in luring my child away from the protection of her aunt's home with false promises of marriage! As for your effrontery in bringing her to your affianced wife – '

  'Don't you think,' suggested the Viscount, 'that foolhardiness would be a better word? Or shall we come down from these impassioned heights? I don't know what you hope to achieve by mouthing such fustian rubbish, for I am persuaded you cannot possibly be so bacon-brained as to suppose that I am guilty of any of these crimes. The mere circumstance of my having placed Cherry in Miss Silverdale's care must absolve me from the two other charges you have laid at my door, but if you wish me to deny them categorically I'll willingly do so! So far from luring Cherry from Maplewood, when I found her trudging up to London I did my possible to persuade her to return to her aunt. I did not offer her marriage, or, perhaps I should add, a carte blanche! Finally, I brought her to Miss Silverdale because, for reasons which must be even better known to you than they are to me, my father would have taken strong exception to her presence under his roof !'

  'Be that as it may,' said Mr Steane, struggling against the odds, 'you cannot – if there is any truth in you, which I am much inclined to doubt! – deny that you have placed her in a very equivocal situation!'

  'I can and do deny it!' replied the Viscount.

  'A man of honour,' persisted Mr Steane, with the doggedness of despair, 'would have restored her to her aunt!'

  'That may be your notion of honour, but it isn't mine,' said the Viscount. 'To have forced her into my curricle, and then to have driven her back to a house where she had been so wretchedly unhappy that she fled from it, preferring to seek some means, however menial