Sustaining two set-downs from Miss Charing, who twice found excuses for refusing invitations to drive out with him in the curricle drawn by his famous chestnuts, Mr. Westruther sent her, by the hand of his groom, a ravishing tan of ivory, pierced, gilded, and painted with delicate medallions by the hand of Angelica Kauffman. Accompanying this gift, was a letter so adroitly phrased that Kitty knew not how to refuse the fan. It was the betrothal-present, Mr. Westruther wrote, of her oldest friend, who dared to subscribe himself by affection, if not by blood, her everloving cousin, Jack.
“Well!” exclaimed Meg, not quite pleased. “I am sure he has never given me anything one half as pretty! He must certainly have had a run of luck! The most expensive trifle, my dear Kitty!”
Pressing her hands to her hot cheeks, Kitty said: “I must not accept such a valuable gift!”
“Good gracious, why should you not? You can scarcely refuse it, my love! Quite unexceptionable, I assure you! ‘Your ever-loving cousin’—! Very prettily phrased, upon my word!”
So when Mr. Westruther renewed his invitation to his cou sin-by-affect ion to drive with him to Richmond Park, to see the primroses there, bursting into pale flower under the shade of immemorial trees, it seemed to Miss Charing that she could only accept, with becoming pleasure. The luck favoured Mr. Westruther; the appointed day was one of bright sunshine. It encouraged Miss Charing to wear a Villager-hat of satin straw, with flowers at one side, and an apple-green ribbon passed beneath her chin, and tied in a skittish bow under her ear; and to carry a frivolous parasol, bestowed upon her by Meg. Mr. Westruther found himself thinking, as he handed her into his curricle, that her appearance was such as must satisfy the most exacting of men.
It was his custom to drive abroad with a diminutive Tiger perched up behind him, but on this occasion he had dispensed with the services of this youth. He told Kitty, with the flicker of a smile, that such chaperonage could not be thought necessary for such near relations (by affection) as themselves. She agreed to it, but warily. Yet not the most querulous critic could have called in question Mr. Westruther’s conduct from start to finish of this expedition. He was the big cousin who had enchanted her childish fancy; he might laugh at her, but he refrained from laughing at Freddy; if he never once referred to her engagement, at least he gave no sign of disbelieving it. Only at the end of an afternoon for which Kitty thanked him with real gratitude did he lower the mask for an instant. The laugh sprang to his eyes; he looked down into her face for a moment, lightly pinched her chin, and said, the words a caress: “Foolish, doubting, little Kitty! There, in with you, my child! I cannot leave my horses to go with you!”
The colour rushed up under his careless fingers; she glanced fleetingly into his face, lowered her eyes again, and with a stammered: “Th-thank you! It was very agreeable!” ran up the steps, and into the house. He drove away, very well satisfied; thinking, too, that the country cousin was unfurling new and charming petals.
He let two days pass, and then called one morning in Berkeley Square to invite both ladies to go with him to Sadler’s Wells on the following evening, so that Kitty might see the great Grimaldi in a revival of his very successful pantomime, Mother Goose. Though Meg might cry out against so unsophisticated an entertainment, Mr. Westruther knew Kitty well enough to be sure that she would revel in it. Had it been possible, he would unhesitatingly have taken her to Astley’s Amphitheatre, and would himself have derived a good deal of amusement, he thought, from watching her awe and delight at Grand Spectacles, and Equestrian Displays. But the Amphitheatre, like its rival, the Royal Circus, never opened until Easter Monday, by which time, Mr.
Westruther trusted, Kitty would have returned to Arnside.
Meg’s butler, admitting him into the house, informed him that her ladyship had driven out, but that Miss Charing, though about to take the air with a friend, was in the Small Saloon. He then escorted Mr. Westruther to this apartment, and, all unwitting, subjected him to a severe shock. “Mr. Westruther!” he announced, and went away, leaving Mr. Westruther on the threshold, a little rigid, the lazy smile frozen on his lips.