Althea by Madeleine E. Robins Page B

of a serious sort is as little regarded in a
gentleman of fortune as it is in a young lady of seventeen — or three and
twenty.”
    “Your impersonation of a fop had me entirely fooled. I was
convinced you had not two ideas to rub against each other,” Althea said
wickedly.
    By the time they reached Danning Hall, far in advance of the
others of the party, they had covered the more current authors and were deep in
an argument over the respective merits of the Greek and Roman playwrights:
Althea held staunchly for the Greeks, while Tracy defended the Romans.
    At Danning they were greeted by Mr. Pendarly’s cousin Mrs.
Abbot, a lively, pretty, stupid woman with a warmhearted manner and no sense
that Althea could discern. After pressing them to come see her house, a manor
cottage indistinguishable from the common run of such edifices, she offered
them seats in the garden, and tried to encourage polite gossip and chatter upon
such topics as the weather, dress, and flowers, and children. Tracy,
inexperienced with the last and uninterested in the first, soon wandered away.
Althea found then, to her embarrassment, that Mrs. Abbot began to discuss her
cousin Edward in the fondest, most flattering of terms, obviously with an eye
toward making a match. The assumption on her hostess’s part that a match could
be made in no way encouraged Althea’s feelings, and it was a distinct relief to
her when Pendarly’s curricle, with the sharp, peering countenance of Miss
Agatha Tidd, came sedately up the drive.
    Very shortly thereafter the Fforyding barouche arrived and
the party was complete. Mr. Pendarly luckily was able to dissuade his cousin
from her fixed notion of displaying the peculiarities of Danning Hall to the
guests, explaining that he had so extolled the beauty of the grounds that he
doubted anyone in the group could be persuaded to enter indoors. The party
moved in a desultory fashion across the green, Miss Fforyding and Mr. Tidd
choosing to become involved in an observation of the statuary, and Lord
Fforyding and his betrothed finding it convenient to rest under a willow
situated out of the common path. This left Mr. Pendarly and his cousin, Miss
Tidd, Althea, and Sir Tracy to walk down the path toward the lake.
    Since their arrival Miss Tidd had made some efforts to
attach herself to Sir Tracy, since Mr. Pendarly had not, outside of common
civility, shown the least interest in her fatuous ramblings. As their group
approached the water, Sir Tracy found that not only was Miss Tidd attempting to
fix his interest, but that Mrs. Abbot was equally determined to foster it. She
suggested that Sir Tracy might be interested in seeing the rest of the topiary
in the garden just beyond the bend in the path, or failing that, perhaps the
boathouse. Sir Tracy considered being rude by simply refusing to do either, but
Althea happened to cast a glance at him — a glance full of enjoyment — and he
stiffly offered his arm to Miss Tidd and started up the path toward the
topiary. Mrs. Abbot then discovered that she had left her reticule back at the
house; she must go and fetch it at once. She turned and hurried up the walk,
the forgotten reticule flapping against her skirts. Althea would have laughed,
but she saw the pained expression on Pendarly’s face and forebore.
    “I apologize for my cousin’s want of manners, ma’am,” he
said stiffly.
    “Not a want of manners so much as a superfluity of goodness,
and a real affection for you, I should think. It really was rather funny. . .
.” She began to giggle, but as Pendarly was apparently unable to appreciate the
humor of the situation, Althea began to quiet herself, and had succeeded to a
nicety when the memory of Calendar’s face as he had been dragged up the path by
the ambitious Miss Tidd sent her into a gale of laughter.
    “Only think,” she gasped when she had some breath to speak
with, “only think of poor Calendar’s expression when Miss Tidd finally
inveigled him into a walk