“Ah! and so would I; but he had it out with her father first. He did not hang about and profess to be there only for Laban’s agreeable conversation; that makes all the difference.”
“I think he could have stood that; he had a robust conscience,” said the Duchess, with a smile. And then she added, “I am trying to do what I can for you. If you will not agree, I cannot help it.”
“I suppose I must agree. There does not seem anything else for me to do,” he said; which was the most ungracious reply she ever had to that invitation, which was rarely extended to any one of so little importance. At Billings, Lady Germaine’s principle of asking people who would amuse her was never resorted to. The people who were asked were very noble and splendid people, but they were not amusing as a rule. It was such a compliment to Winton as the uninitiated could not understand. But there were, of course, a great many people who knew better than the Duchess herself did the intention with which this invitation was given. Lady Hungerford, for instance, sitting quietly with her husband after dinner, having heard of it that morning, suddenly astonished him by bursting out into a great fit of laughter. As nothing had been said to account for this, and Lord Hungerford’s company of itself was not calculated to produce hilarity, he was much surprised, and at once requested to know what she was laughing about.
“Oh, it is nothing,” she said. “Your mother is asking young Winton—the man, you know, who has that pretty house in Kensington—to go to Billings, for the shooting.”
“Is that so very funny?” said Lord Hungerford.
“Don’t you see, you thickhead?” said his wife, who was not, perhaps, so exquisite in her language as became her present rank; “she has taken it into her head that he will do for Jane, and she thinks by taking him down to Billings that she will get your father to consent.”
“For Jane!” said Hungerford in dismay.
“That is your mother’s little plan. But what amuses me is to see that she thinks she will get your father to consent.”
But it did not appear that Hungerford found the same amusement in the thought. He was slow of intelligence, and took some time to master it. “For Jane!” he said at least half-a-dozen times over during the course of the evening: and when he next met his mother he proceeded at once to investigate the matter.
“What is this I hear about Regy Winton?” he said. “Susan tells me you are thinking of him for Jane.”