ability to bring her hypochondriacal parent round her thumb, and was thus able to set out for Inglehurst without fear of meeting with a rebuff.
However, he did feel that it might be prudent to warn Cherry that Lady Silverdale enjoyed indifferent health, and consequently indulged in rather odd humours, which found expression in fits of the blue-devils, a tendency to fancy herself ill-used, and a marked predilection for enacting what he called Cheltenham tragedies.
She listened to him attentively, and, to his surprise, seemed to derive encouragement from this somewhat daunting description of her prospective hostess. She said, with all the wisdom of one versed in the idiosyncrasies of invalids: 'Then perhaps I can be of use in the house! Even Aunt Bugle says I am good at looking after invalids, and although I don't wish to puff myself off I think that is perfectly true. In fact, I have been wondering if I shouldn't seek for a post as attendant to an old, cantankersome lady: I daresay you know the sort of old lady I mean, sir!'
Lively memories of the tyranny exercised by his paternal grandmother over her family and her dependants crossed his mind, and he replied rather grimly: 'I do, and can only trust that you will not be obliged to seek any such post!'
'Well,' she said seriously, 'I own that it's disagreeable to be pinched at for everything one does, but one must remember how much more disagreeable it must be to be old, and unable to do things for oneself. And also,' she added reflectively, 'if a twitty old lady takes a fancy to one, one becomes valuable to her family. My aunt, and my cousins, were never so kind to me as during the months before poor old Lady Bugle died. Why, my aunt even said that she didn't know how they would go on without me!'
She sounded so much gratified by this tribute that Desford bit back the caustic comment that sprang to the tip of his tongue, and merely said that Lady Silverdale was neither old nor dying; and although she would (in his opinion) wear down the patience of a saint it would be unjust to call her twitty.
When they reached their destination, they were received by Grimshaw, who showed no pleasure at sight of one who had run free at Inglehurst ever since he had been old enough to bestride a pony, but said dampingly that if my lady had known his lordship meant to visit her she would no doubt have set dinner back to suit his convenience. As it was, he regretted to be obliged to inform his lordship that my lady and Miss Henrietta had already retired to the drawing-room.
Too well-accustomed to the butler's habitual air of disparaging gloom to be either surprised or offended the Viscount said: 'Yes, I guessed how it would be, but I daresay her ladyship will forgive me. Be a good fellow, Grimshaw, and drop the word in Miss Hetta's ear that I want to see her privately! I'll wait in the library.'
Grimshaw might be proof against the Viscount's smile but he was not proof against the lure of a golden coin slid into his hand. He did not demean himself by so much as a glance at it, but his experienced fingers informed him that it was a guinea, so he bowed in a stately way, and went off to perform the errand, not allowing himself to show his disapproval of Miss Steane by more than one look of outraged surprise.
The Viscount then led Miss Steane to a small saloon, and ushered her into it, telling her to sit down, like a good girl, and wait for him to bring Miss Silverdale to her. After that he withdrew to the library at the back of the hall, where, after a few minutes, he was joined by Miss Silverdale, who came in, saying in a rallying tone: 'Now, what's all this, Des? What brings you here so unexpectedly? And why the mystery?'
He took her hands, and held them: 'Hetta, I'm in a scrape!'
She burst out laughing. 'I might have known it! And I am to rescue you from it?'
'And you are to rescue me from it,' he corroborated, the
However, he did feel that it might be prudent to warn Cherry that Lady Silverdale enjoyed indifferent health, and consequently indulged in rather odd humours, which found expression in fits of the blue-devils, a tendency to fancy herself ill-used, and a marked predilection for enacting what he called Cheltenham tragedies.
She listened to him attentively, and, to his surprise, seemed to derive encouragement from this somewhat daunting description of her prospective hostess. She said, with all the wisdom of one versed in the idiosyncrasies of invalids: 'Then perhaps I can be of use in the house! Even Aunt Bugle says I am good at looking after invalids, and although I don't wish to puff myself off I think that is perfectly true. In fact, I have been wondering if I shouldn't seek for a post as attendant to an old, cantankersome lady: I daresay you know the sort of old lady I mean, sir!'
Lively memories of the tyranny exercised by his paternal grandmother over her family and her dependants crossed his mind, and he replied rather grimly: 'I do, and can only trust that you will not be obliged to seek any such post!'
'Well,' she said seriously, 'I own that it's disagreeable to be pinched at for everything one does, but one must remember how much more disagreeable it must be to be old, and unable to do things for oneself. And also,' she added reflectively, 'if a twitty old lady takes a fancy to one, one becomes valuable to her family. My aunt, and my cousins, were never so kind to me as during the months before poor old Lady Bugle died. Why, my aunt even said that she didn't know how they would go on without me!'
She sounded so much gratified by this tribute that Desford bit back the caustic comment that sprang to the tip of his tongue, and merely said that Lady Silverdale was neither old nor dying; and although she would (in his opinion) wear down the patience of a saint it would be unjust to call her twitty.
When they reached their destination, they were received by Grimshaw, who showed no pleasure at sight of one who had run free at Inglehurst ever since he had been old enough to bestride a pony, but said dampingly that if my lady had known his lordship meant to visit her she would no doubt have set dinner back to suit his convenience. As it was, he regretted to be obliged to inform his lordship that my lady and Miss Henrietta had already retired to the drawing-room.
Too well-accustomed to the butler's habitual air of disparaging gloom to be either surprised or offended the Viscount said: 'Yes, I guessed how it would be, but I daresay her ladyship will forgive me. Be a good fellow, Grimshaw, and drop the word in Miss Hetta's ear that I want to see her privately! I'll wait in the library.'
Grimshaw might be proof against the Viscount's smile but he was not proof against the lure of a golden coin slid into his hand. He did not demean himself by so much as a glance at it, but his experienced fingers informed him that it was a guinea, so he bowed in a stately way, and went off to perform the errand, not allowing himself to show his disapproval of Miss Steane by more than one look of outraged surprise.
The Viscount then led Miss Steane to a small saloon, and ushered her into it, telling her to sit down, like a good girl, and wait for him to bring Miss Silverdale to her. After that he withdrew to the library at the back of the hall, where, after a few minutes, he was joined by Miss Silverdale, who came in, saying in a rallying tone: 'Now, what's all this, Des? What brings you here so unexpectedly? And why the mystery?'
He took her hands, and held them: 'Hetta, I'm in a scrape!'
She burst out laughing. 'I might have known it! And I am to rescue you from it?'
'And you are to rescue me from it,' he corroborated, the
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