“Yes, half a dozen dinners and one or two rather big evening affairs. Oh, and a ball given by the officers at Pitstow. It is to take place in the town hall. I have not replied yet—the ball is for next Tuesday.”
“We will go,” said Rowton; “we will dance our time away. I shall dance with my wife, no matter what the county say.”
He hummed a bar of his favourite song, “Begone, dull care.”
“You don’t look too well, Adrian,” said the young wife, glancing up tenderly into his face; “you don’t suppose I want balls or parties. You are with me again and my heart is full.”
“Faith, Nance, gaiety is no delight to me,” he replied; “but ‘noblesse oblige,’ dearest—we must live up to our position. The Squire of Rowton Heights is the biggest man in the place—he must entertain. Dame Rowton must entertain too. Ah! pretty one, how superb you will look in that old dress—and I have brought home a trinket for you.”
“A trinket!” said Nance; “but I have so many.”
“None like this,” he answered. “What think you of a black diamond?”
“Black,” she said.
“Aye, such a beauty—fit for the brow of a queen. I am not going to show it you yet. You shall wear it at our own ball. To-night we will talk over that matter with Lady Georgina. She is worth her weight in gold when we take her really into our confidence.”