"I wish, Rip," said Mrs. Wriothesley, putting her head into her husband's sanctum one morning, "you would look in at Bubb's this afternoon, and tell them to send me a box for the Prince of Wales's next Wednesday. You will of course do as you like, but I am going to ask Jim Bloxam to dine and go with us to the play."
"What a clever designing little woman it is!" replied her husband lazily. "I'll order the box; but you must pick up somebody else to do 'gooseberry' with you, as I can't come that night. It's hardly fair upon Jim; but as I have found matrimony pleasant myself, I don't for once mind being in the conspiracy. Besides, Sylla is a good sort if she will only take a fancy to him: she seems rather inclined to avoid him, it strikes me."
"Oh, you goose!" replied his wife. "Get me the box, and pray that you may have decent luck at whist for the next few weeks; we shall want all the sovereigns you can scrape together to buy wedding presents before the season is out."
Lady Mary Bloxam was really very much to be pitied. Here was the season slipping by, and the design with which she had opened the campaign seemed further from accomplishment than ever. Worse than all, her own daughter was playing into the hands of the enemy. There was no disguising the fact. It was too palpably evident. There was something wrong between Blanche and Lionel Beauchamp. The young lady treated him with marked coldness, which he on his side resented. In vain did Lady Mary cross-examine her daughter in the most insidious manner. Blanche would own to no quarrel, nor assign any reason for their gradual estrangement; but Lady Mary saw with dismay that the two were drifting wider apart as the weeks wore on. That she should attribute all this to Sylla and her designing aunt may be easily supposed. It was true that in society Lionel Beauchamp could most certainly not be accused of paying pronounced devotion to Miss Chipchase. But Lady Mary had ever a picture before her mind of Beauchamp in a low chair, in the drawing-room at Hans Place, making passionate love to Sylla; and her dislike of that young lady was intensified accordingly. She was at variance with her daughter just now on the subject of the invitation they had received from Lionel Beauchamp for a water party down the river, and about which she and Blanche were by no means of one mind. Lady Mary was all for its acceptance, while Miss Bloxam persistently advocated its refusal.
"You are too provoking, Blanche," exclaimed Lady Mary; "sometimes you are dissatisfied because we have not cards for this, that, and the other; and now we have an invitation for what promises to be a very pleasant party, you not only declare you won't go, but won't give any reason for declining."
"I say 'no' because I don't wish to go," replied Miss Bloxam.
"Fiddle-de-dee!" replied her mother, sharply. "All girls like to go to what promises to be a pleasant party. It is only right and proper they should, unless they are unwell. Is there anything the matter with you?"
"No, unless it be that I am getting rather tired of London gaiety. I shall be very glad, indeed, to get back to Todborough."
"That's a most unnatural remark for a girl to make in her second season. None of your sisters, thank goodness, ever required it; but I am afraid I shall have to see what a doctor thinks of you. I must get hold of Pansey Cottrell and hear what he says about this picnic. I declare, if he reports favourably, I shall insist upon your going, Blanche."
"I cannot see, mamma, what Mr. Cottrell has got to do with it. There can be no possible use in consulting him."