"Oh no, he is not! He was my ward. That is a very different matter. Moreover, my heart wouldn't be in it: Harriet offered battle, and has been defeated in one brilliant engagement. I cannot consider it to be any concern of mine - though I shall be interested to see the outcome."
"If you have taken it into your head to save your brother at the expense of mine, Julian, I tell you now that I won't have it!" said Judith.
He smiled, but returned no answer, merely moving away to join a group of men by the stairs.
The rest of the evening passed wretchedly enough for Judith. It was some time before Peregrine reappeared, and when he did at last come back from the garden he was in high fettle. Harriet, employing new tactics, had joined the younger guests in the ballroom, and was behaving in a manner quite unlike herself, chattering and laughing, and promising more dances than the night could possibly hold. Never remarkable for his perception, Peregrine beamed with pleasure, and told her that he had known all along that she would enjoy herself.
"I am afraid you have come too late, Peregrine!" she said, very bright eyed. "Every dance is booked!"
"Oh, that's capital!" he replied. "Don't bother your head over me: I shall do famously!"
After this well-meaning piece of tactlessness, he withdrew from the ballroom, and was next seen in the salon, turning over the leaves of her music for Barbara, who had been persuaded to sing Mr Guest's latest ballad, The Farewell.
On the following morning, while she sat at breakfast, a note was brought round to Judith by hand. It was directed in a fist that showed unmistakable signs of agitation, and sealed with a lilac wafer set hopelessly askew.
"Harriet!" said Judith in long-suffering accents. She tore the sheet open, and remarked: "Blotched with tears! She wants me to go to her immediately."
"Will you have the carriage ordered at once, or will you delay your departure long enough to pour me out some more coffee?" enquired the Earl.