Whatever of rage or mortification Hugh felt, he concealed, merely saying to Kitty in a grave tone: “I had not thought this of you. I beg you will consider well before you take a step I am persuaded you must regret. I shall say no more. George, I am going to bed. I daresay you too, Foster, are ready to retire.”
But Lord Dolphinton, scenting an ally in his cousin Freddy, was recalcitrant. He said that he need not go to bed at anyone’s bidding; and went so far as to add, in a spirit of great daring, that he was going to drink the happy couple’s healths. As Hugh had dissuaded him, rather earlier in the evening, from pouring himself out a second glass of brandy and water, this announcement was tantamount to a declaration of independence, and frightened Lord Dolphinton quite as much as it surprised all those who knew how much in awe of his clerical cousin he stood. However, the Rector refused the challenge, merely favouring the backslider with a long, reproving look before bidding the company goodnight. This triumph so much elated Dolphinton that he became loquacious, living over again his victory with such pertinacity that Lord Biddenden was soon driven from the room.
“Didn’t like it, because I gave Hugh a set-down,” said Dolphinton, with satisfaction. “Silly fellow! Shouldn’t have come here.”
Since his lordship showed every sign of settling down to make a night of it, Freddy, who wished for further guidance from his betrothed, was obliged to exert all his powers of persuasion to induce him to go to bed. But no sooner had he accomplished his design than Miss Fishguard came into the Saloon, agog with sentiment, curiosity, and a determination to chaperon her charge.
Miss Fishguard’s method of entering any room in which she had reason to believe that a tête-a-tête was taking place, was first to peep round the door with an arch smile, saying: “Do I intrude?” and then, without awaiting an answer, to trip across the floor on tiptoe, as though she feared to disturb a sick person. The habit arose partly from timidity, and partly from a resolve never to presume upon her position; and it never failed to irritate her employers. However, as Kitty was well aware, from Miss Fishguard’s fund of reminiscence, of the slights and snubs which were a governess’s portion, she creditably hid her annoyance, summoned up a welcoming smile, and announced her engagement.
Since the news had spread rapidly through the household that the Honourable Freddy had arrived at a dissipated hour of the night, demanding Miss Charing, and that Miss had risen from her bed, dressed herself, and gone down to the Saloon immediately, the announcement was not quite unexpected. Miss Fishguard, however, greeted it with upfhing hands, and ecstatic exclamations. Mr. Standen’s tardy arrival and successful suit seemed to her so romantic that, inspiration failing, she was obliged to quote the words of one of her favourite poets. Twittering with excitement, as she dropped a curtsy to Freddy, she uttered: “Oh, Mr. Frederick! It reminds one so! ‘He staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none!’”
“Eh?” said Freddy, startled.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Frederick, surely you remember? ‘For a laggard in love and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar!’”
“Was he, though?” said Freddy, faint but pursuing.
Miss Charing, more familiar with the poem than her betrothed, was just about to enquire, in a practical frame of mind, whether her preceptress had the Reverend Hugh Rattray in mind, or Lord Dolphinton, when Miss Fishguard, in a gush of sensibility, said: “‘Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide!’”