“Go in for it yourself, then,” whispered the bold Sophy; “I shan’t object.”
But even Sophy was impressed. Her first interest, Lord Alf, had disappeared long ago, and had been succeeded by others, all very willing to amuse themselves and her, as much as she pleased, but all disappearing in their turn to the regions above, or the regions below, equally out of Sophy’s reach, whom circumstances shut out from the haunts of blacklegs and sporting men, as well as from the upper world, to which the Lord Alfs of creation belong by nature. Still it was not in Sophy’s nature to be so wise as Kate. She was not tired of amusing herself, and had not begun yet to pursue her gayeties with a definite end. Sophy told her friends quite frankly that her sister was “on the look-out.” “She has had her fun, and she wants to settle down,” the younger said with admirable candor, to the delight and much amusement of her audiences from the Barracks. For this these gentlemen well knew, though both reasonable and virtuous in a man, is not so easily managed in the case of a lady. “By Jove! I shouldn’t wonder if she did,” was their generous comment. “She has had her fun, by Jove! and who does she suppose would have her?” Yet the best of girls, and the freshest and sweetest, do have these heroes, after a great deal more “fun” than ever could have been within the reach of Kate; for there are disabilities of women which cannot be touched by legislation, and to which the most strong-minded must submit.
However, Sophy and Kate, as I have said, were both moved to exertion by this display of all the grandeur of Whiteladies. They kept their father fuming and fretting outside, while they lingered in the porch with Reine and Herbert. The whole youthful party was there, including Everard and Giovanna, who had at last permitted poor little Jean to be put to bed, but who was still excited by her demonstration, and the splendid company of which she had formed a part.
“How they are dull, these great ladies!” she cried; “but not more dull than ces messieurs, who thought I was mad. Mon Dieu! because I was happy about M. ’Erbert, and that he had come home.”
“It was very grand of you to be glad,” cried Sophy. “Bertie, you have gone and put everybody out. Why did you get well, sir? Papa pretends to be pleased, too, but he would like to give you strychnine or something. Oh, it wouldn’t do us any good, we are only girls; and I think you have a better right than papa.”
“Thanks for taking my part,” said Herbert, who was a little uncertain how to take this very frank address. A man seldom thinks his own problematical death an amusing incident; but still he felt that to laugh was the right thing to do.
“Oh, of course we take your part,” cried Sophy. “We expect no end of fun from you, now you’ve come back. I am so sick of all those Barrack parties; but you will always have something going on, won’t you? And Reine, you must ask us. How delicious a dance would be in the hall! Bertie, remember you are to go to Ascot with us; you are our cousin, not any one else’s. When one is related to the hero of the moment, one is not going to let one’s glory drop. Promise, Bertie! you go with us?”
“I am quite willing, if you want me,” said Herbert.
“Oh, if we want you!—of course we want you—we want you always,” cried Sophy. “Why, you are the lion; we are proud of you. We shall want to let everybody see that you don’t despise your poor relations, that you remember we are your cousins, and used to play with you. Don’t you recollect, Bertie? Kate and Reine used to be the friends always, because they were the steadiest; and you and me—we were the ones who got into scrapes,” cried Sophy. This, to tell the truth, was a very rash statement; for Herbert, always delicate, had not been in the habit of getting into scrapes. But all the more for this, he was pleased with the idea.
“Yes,” he said half doubtfully, “I recollect;” but his recollections were not clear enough to enter into details.