“It must, and shall!” said Deborah resolutely.
“I am sure I hope it may, but I do not see how we can recover, with peas at such a price, and you playing piquet with Ravenscar for ten shillings a point.”
Miss Grantham hung her head. “Indeed, I am very sorry,” she apologized. “He did say he would come again, to let me have my revenge, but perhaps I had better make an excuse?”
“No, no, that would never do! We must hope that he will presently turn to faro, and make the best of it. Mablethorpe has sent you a basketful of roses this morning, my love.”
“I know,” replied Deborah. “Ormskirk sent a bouquet of carnations in a jewelled holder. I have quite a drawerful of his gifts to me. I would like to throw them in his painted face!”
“And so you could, if only you would take poor young Mablethorpe,” her aunt pointed out. “I am sure he has the sweetest of tempers, and would make anyone a most amiable husband. As for his not being of age yet, that will soon be a thing of the past, and if you are thinking about his mother—not that there is the least need, for though she can be very disagreeable, she is not a bad-hearted creature, Selina Mablethorpe—”
“No, I was not thinking of her,” said Deborah. “And I will not think of Adrian either, if you please, aunt! I may be one of faro’s daughters, but I’ll not entrap any unfortunate young man into marrying me, even if my refusal means a debtors’ prison!”
“You don’t feel that Ormskirk would be better than a debtors’ prison?” suggested Lady Bellingham, in a desponding voice.
Deborah broke into laughter. “Aunt Lizzie, you are a most shocking creature! How can you talk so?”
“Well, but, my dear, you will be just as surely ruined for ever in prison as under Ormskirk’s protection, and far less agreeably,” said her ladyship, with strong common sense. “Not that I wish for such a connexion, for I don’t, but what else is to be done?”