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There was nothing for him to do but to take his dismissal with what grace he could muster. The Chevalier, having discovered Miss Broughty, averted his eyes from her countenance with an effort, and bowed again, saying with mechanical civility: ‘Au plaisir de vous revoir, m’sieur!’
Sir Henry executed a bow, glared for a moment at the handsome young Frenchman, and walked away, jauntily twirling his cane. Kitty, observing that the Chevalier’s gaze had returned to her blushing friend’s face, hastily repaired an omission. ‘My dear Miss Broughty, you must allow me to present to you my cousin, the Chevalier d’Evron!’
‘How do you do?’ whispered Olivia, putting out her hand, and blushing more furiously than ever.
‘Mademoiselle!’ breathed the Chevalier, taking the little hand reverently in his, and holding it as a man might hold a rare bird.
Thirteen
Never had there been a clearer case of love at first sight! As the Chevalier stood, tenderly holding the little gloved hand in his, while his gaze devoured the flower-like face, Olivia raised her eyes to his in a look of wonder, as though she had been an enchanted maiden awakened from long, dreamless sleep. Kitty, interestedly watching, thought that they exchanged hearts in that moment, and was quite sorry when a recollection of their surroundings made each look away. Olivia recovered her hand, and the Chevalier began at once to talk in his vivacious style to Kitty. He walked beside them, leading his horse, and when they would have parted from him at the Stanhope Gate, declared that he had been on his way to the livery-stables when he had encountered them, and wished to ride no more. He escorted them along Mount Street; and Kitty, much enjoying her first efforts at matchmaking, begged them to stroll on towards Berkeley Square while she paused at the Legerwood house, to enquire after the invalids. When she presently overtook them, they were conversing with the ease of long friendship, or perfect understanding; and the Chevalier had begged leave to stable his horse, and to return immediately to Lady Buckhaven’s house, that he might have the privilege of driving Olivia back to Hans Crescent. Kitty could only admire such ready address. The Chevalier certainly had no carriage in England, but she did not doubt that he would contrive to beg, borrow, or hire a suitable vehicle. Nor was she disappointed: in a surprisingly short space of time he presented himself in Meg’s drawing-room, leaving a groom from the livery-stables he patronized in charge of a neat phaeton-and-pair.
He arrived to find the elder Miss Scorton sitting with Kitty and Olivia, and Kitty could have laughed aloud to see the look of chagrin that flickered in his eyes. But Olivia’s cousin Eliza, a kind, vulgar spinster of uncertain age and romantic disposition, had no notion of spoiling sport. She had indeed come to bear Olivia company on her way home, but one glance at the Chevalier’s excellent riding-dress and indefinable air of affluence was enough to convince her that here was a possible parti for her beautiful little cousin who combined wealth with attributes still more alluring to the female mind; and she lost no time in breaking into a voluble explanation of the several reasons which made it inconvenient for her to take Olivia back to Hans Crescent for at least an hour. She then took leave of Miss Charing, and departed, but not, rather unfortunately, before Lady Buckhaven came in. Meg received her protestations with civility, but coolly; and when she and Kitty were presently left alone she said, in a pet, that she wished Kitty would not invite such vulgar creatures to her house.
Kitty was contrite, but she was able to assure her hostess that Miss Scorton had no notion of encroaching. ‘She came only to escort Olivia home, you know. But, Meg, did you observe my cousin? I declare to you he no sooner clapped eyes on Olivia than he had no eyes for anyone else! It is the most famous thing!’
But Meg did not think it a famous thing at all. ‘Of course I observed your cousin, and I must say, Kitty, I think it is foolish beyond permission to encourage such a thing! The Chevalier and a girl with such low connections? You must be mad to think of it!’
‘Oh, fiddle!’ Kitty said. ‘You will own that her birth is respectable, and as for her connections, why, Camille will take her away to France, and they need never be troubled by Mrs Broughty, or the Scortons!’
‘You can know nothing of relations if that is what you think!’ said Meg tartly. ‘Good gracious, I wonder that Freddy will let you make such a goosecap of yourself!’
Miss Charing refrained from explaining that it was not in Mr Standen’s power to control any of her actions. She guessed that Meg would lose no time in telling Freddy, and was fully prepared to counter opposition from that quarter. But Freddy, rubbing his nose as he always did when at a stand, merely said in a thoughtful voice: ‘Shouldn’t wonder if you were to catch cold at that, Kit.’
‘Why, what do you mean?’
‘Don’t think it’ll fadge,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, you are thinking of those dreadful Scortons, I daresay! I own, if Camille were an Englishman it might not do, but consider!—he is here only upon a visit, and it is not to be supposed that Mrs Broughty or her sister will for ever be journeying into France! Indeed, I should be astonished if they went there at all! To Olivia herself there can be not the least objection!’
‘Got a notion Mrs Broughty won’t like it,’ said Freddy.
She stared at him. ‘But why should she not? Besides, I have learnt that Camille was received by her when he drove Olivia to Hans Crescent that day, and nothing could have exceeding her affability!’
Freddy looked vaguely distressed, and rubbed his nose harder than ever.
‘But, Freddy—!’
In Freddy’s pocket there nestled a brief note from Lord Legerwood, informing him that he could discover no noble French family bearing the patronymic of Evron. ‘Of “my uncle the Marquis,”’ wrote Lord Legerwood, ‘there is no discoverable trace. One feels that the creation of this peer was a mistake. One is further tempted to hazard the conjecture that your Chevalier may well prove to be a chevalier d’industrie . . . ’
Freddy looked at Miss Charing, whose innocent eyes were fixed enquiringly upon his face, and coloured. ‘French, y’know!’ he said. ‘Been at war with the Frogs so long—!’
Miss Charing was satisfied, and laughed away such doubts. Freddy, foreseeing that Mrs Broughty, as well as himself, might be inspired to make certain enquiries, perceived shoals ahead, and looked unhappier than ever. His sister would have been glad had she been able to persuade him to remonstrate with his betrothed on her friendship with Olivia; for although Mrs Broughty, content to have insinuated her daughter into the genteel stronghold of the Buckhaven mansion, did not herself attempt to gain the entrée there, Meg lived in constant dread that she would one day do so. She told Freddy that she feared to be dragged into the Scorton-set: if Mrs Broughty presented herself in Berkeley Square she would not know how to refuse her admittance. Freddy replied, in a practical spirit, that such knowledge was unnecessary. ‘Only have to tell Skelton you ain’t at home: he’ll do the rest. Dash it, that’s what butlers are for!’
‘Oh, well, if you don’t care for me,’ said Meg crossly, ‘I wonder you should not care for Kitty’s getting herself into a scrape, as she very likely will!’
‘Don’t see why she should,’ responded Freddy obstinately.
Meg was in low spirits, suffering from the little malaises of pregnant women, which made her say with a fretfulness alien to her character: ‘How can you be so stupid? That sort of thing always leads to trouble! It is all kindness, and I am sure I am quite as sorry for Miss Broughty as anyone, but one cannot make a friend of everybody in distressing circumstances! Only, Kitty has been about the world so little she does not understand, and you do not make the least push to set her right!’
‘Yes, I do!’ said Freddy, stung by this unjust remark. ‘If it hadn’t been for me, she’d have been going all over town in that devilish hat you told her was all the crack!’
‘It was all the crack!’ exclaimed Meg, sitting upright on the sofa in her indignation. ‘Only you are so gothic and stuffy! You would not let her purchase it, just because you had never seen one of the new jockey-bonnets before! So I did, and it has been very much admired, let me tell you!’
‘What?’ ejaculated Freddy, roused to real dismay. ‘Good God, Meg, you ain’t such a sapskull as to put a lilac coal-scuttle on that yaller head of yours?’
‘A great many persons of exquisite taste,’ his sister informed him in trembling accents, ‘have told me that I look excessively becomingly in it!’
‘A great many gapeseeds!’ said Freddy witheringly. ‘It’s time m’mother left the young ’uns to Nurse to look after, and stopped you making a figure of yourself! No, really, Meg! Might consider me, you know! Might consider Mama, too! Do us credit!’
