“I know what you mean, I daresay,” said Kitty, wisely, but in blissful ignorance of Miss Broughty’s meaning. “You are now and then judged by your company, and you find yourself treated with that kind of high-bred insolence which I have frequently noticed in London, and which I do not consider high-bred at all, but, on the contrary, excessively ill-bred!” She added frankly: “Forgive me, but I could not but notice that you were not quite pleased to meet Mr. Westruther in Berkeley Square! If you should have thought that he was not civil to you when you met him previously, I assure you he does not mean to offend! He has sometimes a little height in his manner: Lady Buckhaven rallies him on it, saying he sets up people’s backs. He is never formal, you know—indeed, I fancy he treats no one with particular distinction!”
“Oh, no!” breathed Olivia. “I did not mean—I should not have mentioned—Such a very distinguished man! His air and address so exactly—” She broke off in confusion, and quickly directed Kitty’s attention to a clump of purple crocuses.
Some inkling of the truth began to dawn on Kitty. It was apparent to her that the magnificence of Mr. Westruther had had its inevitable effect upon Miss Broughty. She did not wonder at it; she would indeed have found it hard to believe that any female could be ten minutes in Mr. Westruther’s company without falling under the spell of his charm. But her sojourn in London, short though it had been, had convinced her that those who called Jack a shocking flirt spoke no less than the truth. It was, of course, reprehensible, but the failing did not diminish his charm: rather, it added to it, Kitty admitted to herself, a little guiltily. Nor was it just, she thought, to censure him too heavily, for the many ladies who blatantly set their caps at him gave him every encouragement to persist in his evil ways. But Kitty had quite a shrewd head on her shoulders, for all her country innocence, and somewhere, at the very back of her mind, not consciously acknowledged, lurked the conviction that Jack woxdd never marry to his own disadvantage. None knew better than she what havoc he could create in female breasts; it would be dreadful if he (unwittingly, of course) scarred Olivia’s tender heart. She said impulsively: “Yes, Freddy—Mr. Standen—
calls him a buck of the first head! He is precisely the hero every schoolroom-miss dreams about—as I have told him! I have known him all my life, you must understand: we have been as cousins.”
“Yes,” Olivia said, still with her eyes fixed on the crocuses. “I collected, when he came in—I was not previously aware of the relationship.”
“Oh, in fact there is none!” Kitty interrupted. “I call all my guardian’s great-nephews my cousins! Yes, what a splendid patch of colour, to be sure! Another day will see them in full bloom, but we shall take cold if we stand still in this sharp wind!” They walked on, the path soon leading them to the promenade flanking the carriage-way. It was not long before a most unwelcome sight assailed Miss Broughty’s eyes. She said, under her breath: “Sir Henry Gosford! I implore you, dear Miss Charing, do not desert me!”
Kitty had not the smallest intention of deserting her, being wholly unacquainted with the tactics adopted by her cousins, the Misses Scorton; but she had no time to reassure her: that time-worn beau, Sir Henry Gosford, had already swept off his hat, and was executing a bow before them. “Venus, with Attendant Nymph!” he uttered.
An involuntary gurgle of mirth drew his eyes toxvards the Attendant Nymph. He raised his quizzing-glass with an air of hauteur, but speedily allowed it to fall again. No quizzingglass, however magnifying its lens, could avail against Miss Charing’s clear, unwavering gaze. From the crown of his jauntily-poised beaver to the toes of his polished boots, Miss Charing surveyed him, critically, but with indulgence. For a horrid moment it seemed to him that she detected the tight corsets he wore; and knew that the glowing chestnut hue of his curled and oiled locks could only be ascribed to the exertions of his barber. In the agitation of this moment, he failed to assimilate the introduction stammeringly performed by Miss Broughty. A lifetime of self-satisfaction came to his rescue; he realized that the Attendant Nymph’s rapt gaze could only spring from admiration of so complete a Bond Street Lounger; favoured her with a nod, and a smile not pronounced enough to disturb the maquillage which so cleverly hid the wrinkles in his face, and turned his attention to Miss Broughty. “Fair Amaryllis!” he said. “It is not too much to say that you adorn the spring! All our beauties are cast into the shade, I protest!”
“No, that’s not right, sir,” said the well-read Miss Charing, painstakingly helpful. “ ‘To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,’ and quite ineligible!”
Sir Henry sustained a severe shock. His jaw dropped, and he groped again for his quizzing-glass, and raised it, this time with every intention of depressing pretension. Miss Charing’s wide gray eyes observed this manoevure with interest. The glass dropped; Sir Henry said, showing all his excellent, if not genuine, teeth in an unloving smile: “Very witty, Miss—er—Scorton!”