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  ‘Were you ever missish?’ enquired Sir Richard.

  ‘I trust not. I have no patience with such folly. Nor am I romantic. In that respect, we must be thought to be well-suited.’

  ‘Must we?’ said Sir Richard, gently swinging his gold-handled quizzing-glass to and fro.

  She seemed amused. ‘Certainly! I trust you have not, at this late date, grown sentimental! It would be quite absurd!’

  ‘Senility,’ pensively observed Sir Richard, ‘often brings sentiment in its train. Or so I have been informed.’

  ‘We need not concern ourselves with that. I like you very well, Richard, but there is just a little nonsense in your disposition which makes you turn everything to jest. I myself am of a more serious nature.’

  ‘Then in that respect, we cannot be thought to be well-suited,’ suggested Sir Richard.

  ‘I do not consider the objection insuperable. The life you have chosen to lead up till now has not been such as to encourage serious reflection, after all. I dare say you may grow more dependable, for you do not want for sense. That, however, must be left to the future. At all events, I am not so unreasonable as to feel the difference in our natures to be an impassable barrier to marriage.’

  ‘Melissa,’ said Sir Richard, ‘will you tell me something?’

  She looked up. ‘Pray, what do you wish me to tell you?’

  ‘Have you ever been in love?’ asked Sir Richard.

  She coloured slightly. ‘No. From my observation, I am thankful that I have not. There is something excessively vulgar about persons under the sway of strong emotions. I do not say it is wrong, but I believe I have something more of fastidiousness than most, and I find such subjects extremely distasteful.’

  ‘You do not,’ Sir Richard drawled, ‘envisage the possibility of – er – falling in love at some future date?’

  ‘My dear Richard! With whom, pray?’

  ‘Shall we say with myself ?’

  She laughed. ‘Now you are being absurd! If you were told that it would be necessary to approach me with some show of love-making, you were badly advised. Ours would be a marriage of convenience. I could contemplate nothing else. I like you very well, but you are not at all the sort of man to arouse those warmer passions in my breast. But I see no reason why that should worry either of us. If you were romantic, it would be a different matter.’

  ‘I fear,’ said Sir Richard, ‘that I must be very romantic.’

  ‘I suppose you are jesting again,’ she replied, with a faint shrug.

  ‘Not at all. I am so romantic that I indulge my fancy with the thought of some woman – doubtless mythical – who might desire to marry me, not because I am a very rich man, but because – you will have to forgive the vulgarity – because she loved me!’

  She looked rather contemptuous. ‘I should have supposed you to be past the age of fustian, Richard. I say nothing against love, but, frankly, love-matches seem to me a trifle beneath us. One would say you had been hobnobbing with the bourgeoisie at Islington Spa, or some such low place! I do not forget that I am a Brandon. I dare say we are very proud; indeed, I hope we are!’

  ‘That,’ said Sir Richard dryly, ‘is an aspect of the situation which, I confess, had not so far occurred to me.’

  She was amazed. ‘I had not thought it possible! I imagined everyone knew what we Brandons feel about our name, our birth, our tradition!’

  ‘I hesitate to wound you, Melissa,’ said Sir Richard, ‘but the spectacle of a woman of your name, birth, and tradition, cold-bloodedly offering herself to the highest bidder is not one calculated to impress the world with a very strong notion of her pride.’

  ‘This is indeed the language of the theatre!’ she exclaimed. ‘My duty to my family demands that I should marry well, but let me assure you that even that could not make me stoop to ally myself with one of inferior breeding.’

  ‘Ah, this is pride indeed!’ said Sir Richard, faintly smiling.

  ‘I do not understand you. You must know that my father’s affairs are in such case as – in short –’

  ‘I am aware,’ Sir Richard said gently. ‘I apprehend it is to be my privilege to – er – unravel Lord Saar’s affairs.’

  ‘But of course!’ she replied, surprised out of her statuesque calm. ‘No other consideration could have prevailed upon me to accept your suit!’

  ‘This,’ said Sir Richard, pensively regarding the toe of one Hessian boot, ‘becomes a trifle delicate. If frankness is to be the order of the day, my dear Melissa, I must point out to you that I have not yet – er – proffered my suit.’

  She was quite undisturbed by this snub, but replied coldly: ‘I did not suppose that you would so far forget what is due to our positions as to approach me with an offer. We do not belong to that world. You will no doubt seek an interview with my father.’

  ‘I wonder if I shall?’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘I imagine that you most certainly will,’ responded the lady, snipping her thread. ‘Your circumstances are as well known to me as mine are to you. If I may say so bluntly, you are fortunate to be in a position to offer for a Brandon.’

  He looked meditatively at her, but made no remark. After a pause, she continued: ‘As for the future, neither of us, I trust, would make great demands upon the other. You have your amusements: they do not concern me, and however much my reason may deprecate your addiction to pugilism, curricle-racing, and deep basset –’

  ‘Pharaoh,’ he interpolated.

  ‘Very well, pharaoh: it is all one. However much I may deprecate such follies, I say, I do not desire to interfere with your tastes.’

  ‘You are very obliging,’ bowed Sir Richard. ‘Bluntly, Melissa, I may do as I please if I will hand you my purse?’

  ‘That is putting it bluntly indeed,’ she replied composedly. She folded up her needlework, and laid it aside. ‘Papa has been expecting a visit from you. He will be sorry to hear that you called while he was away from home. He will be with us again to-morrow, and you may be sure of finding him, if you care to call at – shall we say eleven o’clock?’

  He rose. ‘Thank you, Melissa. I feel that my time has not been wasted, even though Lord Saar was not here to receive me.’

  ‘I hope not, indeed,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘Come! We have had a talk which must, I feel, prove valuable. You think me unfeeling, I dare say, but you will do me the justice to admit that I have not stooped to unworthy pretence. Our situation is peculiar, which is why I overcame my reluctance to discuss the question of our marriage with you. We have been as good as betrothed these five years, and more.’

  He took her hand. ‘Have you considered yourself betrothed to me these five years?’ he enquired.

  For the first time in their interview her eyes failed to meet his. ‘Certainly,’ she replied.

  ‘I see,’ said Sir Richard, and took his leave of her.

  He put in a belated appearance at Almack’s that evening. No one, admiring his point-de-vice appearance, or listening to his lazy drawl, could have supposed him to be on the eve of making the most momentous decision of his life. Only his uncle, rolling into the club some time after midnight, and observing the dead men at his elbow, guessed that the die had been cast. He told George Trevor, whom he found just rising from the basset-table, that Ricky was taking it hard, a pronouncement which distressed George, and made him say: ‘I have not exchanged two words with him. Do you tell me he has actually offered for Melissa Brandon?’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything,’ said Lucius. ‘All I say is that he’s drinking hard and plunging deep.’

  In great concern, George seized the first opportunity that offered of engaging his brother-in-law’s attention. This was not until close on three o’clock, when Sir Richard at last rose from the pharaoh-table, and Sir Richard was not, by that time, in the mood for private