There was a table by the window with her writing-desk upon it. She drew up a chair to it, and began to write, slowly, with many pauses.
“ Mamma — ” she began, as abruptly as the Marquis — “ I have gone with Lord Vidal in Sophia’s place. His letter came to my hand instead of hers; you will see how desperate is the case, for it is plain he has no thought of marriage. I have a plan to show him she is not to be had so easily. Do not be afraid for my safety or my honour, even tho’ I may not reach home again till very late. ”
She read this through, hesitated, and then signed her name. She dusted the sheet, folded it up with the Marquis’s note to Sophia, and sealed it, directing it to her mother.
Neither Mrs. Challoner nor Sophia made much demur at leaving her behind that evening. Mrs. Challoner thought, to be sure, that it was a pity she must needs have a sick headache on this very evening when Uncle Henry had promised the young people a dance, but she made no attempt to persuade her into accompanying them.
Miss Challoner lay in bed with the hartshorn in her hand, and watched Sophia dress for the party.
“Oh, what do you think, Mary?” Sophia chattered. “My uncle has contrived to get Dennis O’Halloran to come. I do think he is too dreadfully handsome, do you not?”
“Handsomer than Vidal?” said Mary, wondering how Sophia could prefer the florid good looks of Mr. O’Halloran to Vidal’s dark stern beauty.
“Oh well, I never did admire black hair, you know,” Sophia replied. “And Vidal is so careless. Only fancy, sister, nothing will induce him to wear a wig, and even when he does powder his hair the black shows through.”
Mary raised herself on her elbow. “Sophy, you don’t love him, do you?” she said anxiously.
Sophia shrugged and laughed. “La, sister, how stupid you are with all that talk of love. It is not at all necessary to love a husband, let me tell you. I like him very well. I do not mean to love anyone very much, for I am sure it is more comfortable if one doesn’t. Do you like my hair dressed a la Venus?”