“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” said the Regent. “Mrs. Scattergood is very well occupied, I assure you, and will not miss you. And if she did, you know, you have only to tell her you were with me, and she can have not the slightest objection.”
Miss Taverner tried to think of an excuse, and could hit upon none. She did not know what to say, for how could a mere Miss Taverner, from Yorkshire, presume to rebuff a Prince-Regent who was old enough to be her father? She ought not to go with him, and yet how was she to refuse? It would be to insult him, and that was unthinkable. She let him tuck her hand in his arm, and tried to think that the squeeze he gave it was not intentional. He led her to one of the folding-doors at the north end of the saloon, and ushered her into the Yellow Drawing-room.
“There!” he said. “Is not this a great deal better than to be trying to talk in the midst of a crowd of other people? This is my private drawing-room, not vast, you see, but exactly the sort of apartment where one can be cosy and informal.”
Miss Taverner could not help reflecting that “cosy” was not the adjective she would have used to describe the Yellow Drawing-room. Hot it certainly was, and extremely airless, but a room more than fifty feet long and over thirty feet wide, with a ceiling supported by white and gold pillars, enwreathed by serpents, and spreading into umbrella capitals hung with bells, hardly seemed to her an apartment designed for informal use. Nor could she feel that five doors panelled with plate-glass enhanced the comfort of the room. The draperies over the windows were of striped satin; there were any number of inlaid Buhl tables, bearing pieces of Asiatic porcelain; and the walls, which were white with gilt borderings, were embellished by Chinese pictures, lanterns, and flying dragons. The chairs and sofas were upholstered in blue and yellow satin, and the cabinet-maker who had constructed them had had the tasteful and original idea of placing a Chinese figure with a bell in either hand on the back of every one.
“Well, how does it strike you? Do you like it?” demanded the Regent.
“Extremely elegant! It is something quite out of the common, sir,” murmured Miss Taverner, wishing that he had not shut the door into the Saloon.
“Yes, that I flatter myself it certainly is,” he said with a good deal of satisfaction. “But I will tell you something, my dear: your pretty curls are precisely the colour of my gilding! Now, is not that odd? You must allow me to tell you that you make a charming picture.” He laughed at her evident confusion, and pinched her cheek. “No, no, there is no need to colour up! You do not need me to tell you what a little beauty you are, when you can see yourself in the mirror whichever way you turn,”
He was standing very close to her, one hand fondling her wrist, and his eyes fixed on her face in a greedy way that made her feel hotter than ever, and more than a little frightened. She pretended to be interested in the Vulliamy timepiece that stood on the mantelshelf, and moved towards the fireplace, saying: “You have so many beautiful things in the Pavilion, sir; one is continually in a state of admiration.”
“Yes, yes, I daresay, but the most beautiful thing in it only came to it an hour ago,” he replied, following her.
Regent or no, she must try to check this amorous mood. She said as lightly as she could: “You were going to show me something, sir. What can it be, I wonder? May I see it before we return to the Saloon?”