However, it had recently been decreed in the interests of human nature that Caroline Crewkerne should come into vogue again. People were to be seen at her “Wednesdays” who had not been seen there for years.
There was George Betterton for one. And the worldly wise, of course, were very quick to account for his presence, and to turn it to pleasure and profit. Cheriton and he were both popular men; and about the third week in May two to one against George and three to one against Cheriton were taken and offered.
“Cheriton is the prettier sparrer,” said students of form, “but Gobo, of course, has the weight.”
“I assure you, my dear,” said a decidedly influential section of the public, “the creature is a perfect simpleton. I assure you she couldn’t say ‘Bo!’ to a goose. It is inconceivable that two men as old as they are and in their position should make themselves so supremely ridiculous. And both of them old enough to be her father.”
“Caroline Crewkerne is behind it all,” said the philosophical. “Her hand has lost nothing of its cunning. Really it is odious to aid and abet them to make such an exhibition of themselves.”
It is regrettable, all the same, to have to state that the exhibition was enjoyed hugely. And when the Morning Post announced that on a certain evening the Countess of Crewkerne would give a dance for Miss Perry, there was some little competition to receive a card.
Cards were liberally dispensed, but when they came to hand many persons of the quieter and less ostentatious sort found that a little fly had crept into the ointment. “Fancy dress” was to be seen written at the top in a style of caligraphy not unworthy of Miss Pinkerton’s academy for young ladies. Miss Burden had been commanded to do this at the eleventh hour.
“That man Cheriton is responsible for this,” complained those who desired neither the expense nor the inconvenience of habiting themselves in the garb of another age, “because he thinks he looks well in breeches.”
That may have been partly the reason; but in justice to Cheriton it is only right to state that, unless he had found a weightier pretext to advance, Caroline Crewkerne would never have assented to this somewhat eccentric condition. Indeed, it was only after a heated argument between them that Cheriton contrived to get his way.
“You must always be flamboyant and theatrical,” grunted Caroline, “at every opportunity. All the world knows you look well in breeches.”