“Oh, yes, please do!” Arabella looked up at her escort,, blushed and stammered: “May I p-present Mr. Anstey to you, Mr. Beaumaris? He—he is a friend of mine!”
“How do you do?” responded Mr. Beaumaris politely. “From Yorkshire, Mr. Anstey?”
“Oh, yes! I have known Miss Tallant since I was in short coats!” grinned Bertram.
“You will certainly be much envied by Miss Tallant’s numerous admirers,” responded Mr. Beaumaris. “Are you staying in town?”
“Just a short visit, you know!” Bertram’s gaze reverted to the team harnessed to the phaeton, all four of them on the fret. “I say, sir, that’s a bang-up team you have in hand!” he said, with all his sister’s impulsiveness. “Oh, don’t look at this hack of mine—showy, but I never crossed a greater slug in my life!”
“You hunt, Mr. Anstey?”
“Yes, with my uncle’s pack, in Yorkshire. Of course, it is not like the Quorn country, or the Pytchley, but we get some pretty good runs, I can tell you!” Bertram confided.
“Mr. Anstey,” interrupted Arabella, fixing him with a very compelling look, “I think Lady Bridlington has sent you a card for her ball: I hope you mean to come!”
“Well, you know, Bel—Miss Tallant!” said Bertram, with disastrous lack of gallantry, “that sort of mummery is not much in my line!” He perceived an anguished expression in her eyes, and added hastily: “That is, delighted, I am sure! Yes, yes, I shall be there! And I shall hope to have the honour of standing up with you!” he ended punctiliously.
Mr. Beaumaris was obliged to pay attention to his team, but he did not miss the minatory note in Arabella’s voice as she said: “I collect we are to have the pleasure of receiving a visit from you tomorrow, sir!”