“What right, Charles?”
“None!” he said. “Do as you please! It can be of no consequence to me! You have an easy conquest in Everard! I had not thought him so fickle. Take care you do not lose your other suitor through encouraging this flirtation — for that is all I believe it to be!”
“Bromford? Now, what a shocking thing would that be! You do right to put me on my guard! Charlbury lives in dread of being called out by him.”
“I might have known I should meet with nothing but levity in you!”
“If you will scold me so absurdly. I am not always so.”
“Sophy — !” He took a hasty step toward her, his hand going out, but almost immediately dropping to his side again. “I wish you had never come amongst us!” he said, and turned away, to lean his arm along the mantelpiece, and stare down at the empty grate.
“That is not kind, Charles.” He was silent.
“Well, you will be rid of me soon, I daresay. I depend upon seeing Sir Horace at any time now. You will be glad!”
“I must be glad.” The words were uttered almost inaudibly, and he did not raise his head or make any movement to prevent her leaving the room.
The exchange had taken place in the library. She stepped out into the hall just as Dassett opened the front door to admit Mr. Wychbold, very natty in a driving coat of innumerable capes, shining hessians, and an enormous nosegay stuck into his buttonhole. He was in the act of laying his tall beaver hat down upon a marble-topped table, but at sight of Sophy he used it to lend flourish to his bow. “Miss Stanton-Lacy. Very obedient servant, ma’am!”