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‘I am sure that if you feel no scruple in coming I need not!’ returned Kitty swiftly. ‘I, after all, came under the protection of Mrs Scorton!’
‘Fine protection!’ said Meg, with a little angry titter.
‘Very true, but better than none!’ flashed Kitty. ‘Nor did I tell lies about dining with aunts!’
‘You did! You said you were dining in Hans Crescent!’
‘It was the truth! I did dine there, and I hadn’t the least notion this was intended!’
The Chevalier, considerably alarmed by these signs of brewing storm, tried at this point to intervene, saying: ‘Ma chère cousine, we must return to our box, or Mrs Scorton will become anxious!’
Neither lady paid any heed to this foolish interruption. Meg said: ‘Let me tell you that I am under the protection of my own cousin!’
‘Fine protection!’ instantly replied Kitty.
Mr Westruther began to laugh. ‘End of Round 1!’ he said. ‘Largely cross-and-jostle work, though both opponents appeared full of gaiety, ready to sport their canvases. We shall see some flush hits in the next round, Chevalier.’
‘How dare you?’ exclaimed Meg furiously. ‘I think, of all the odious people—’
‘No, no, my love, you must not start sparring with me! I am your second!’ said Mr Westruther.
‘I beg of you, my cousin, only consider!’ said the Chevalier. ‘Already we attract notice!’
‘I am perfectly ready to return to Mrs Scorton, I assure you.’
‘What a spoil-sport you are, Chevalier!’ drawled Mr Westruther. ‘Mere flourishing so far! We have not yet arrived at the lilac gown, which I take to be the crux of the matter. Come now, Meg, rattle in!’
But this mocking encouragement had the effect of turning his principal into a stiff figure of outraged propriety. ‘Pray take me back to our own box!’ said Meg, in freezing accents. ‘We are keeping dear Kitty from what I am persuaded must be a most agreeable party. I am myself returning to Berkeley Square in a very few minutes, but no doubt Mrs Scorton will convey you there when the masquerade is over, Kitty.’
She then swept a dignified curtsy, took Mr Westruther’s arm again, and walked away with him down the corridor.
A good deal concerned, the Chevalier began to express his contrition at having been imprudent enough to have removed his mask. Kitty cut him short, saying that it did not signify; and in silence they went back to Mrs Scorton’s box.
The next half hour passed for Kitty like a species of nightmare. She was obliged for civility’s sake to dance several times, but the masquerade was fast developing into a romp, and, as though to make matters even more disagreeable, two total strangers had been added to the party, and were contributing their mites to its success by flirting in an inebriated and very ungenteel way with the Misses Scorton. Their sallies were received with shrieks of mirth, and playful raps across the knuckles from furled fans, and the only person, besides Kitty herself, who seemed to deprecate their inclusion in the party was Mr Malham, who several times informed Kitty that he had a very good mind to call that fellow in a Spanish costume to book. Since the fellow in question was behaving extremely freely with Miss Susan Scorton, Kitty could only be surprised that he did not do it. She was herself subjected to a good deal of annoyance; and since her cousin had once more spirited Olivia away from the box, and Mrs Scorton, much flushed, and refreshing herself with sips of champagne, took it all as a very good joke, she felt herself to be wholly unprotected. She excused herself from waltzing with Tom Scorton, and, when the rest of the party surged out of the box to take the floor, was thankful to find herself alone, Mrs Scorton having gone off with Eliza, to pin up her daughter’s torn flounce. She withdrew to a chair at the back of the box, trying to compose her disordered nerves, but was startled, a few minutes later, by feeling a touch on her shoulder. Such had been the experiences of this disastrous evening that she uttered a cry, and shrank away from the hand. A familiar, and most welcome, voice smote her ears. ‘No, really, Kit!’ it said. ‘No need to screech! Only me!’
‘Freddy!’ she cried, turning sharply in her chair. ‘Oh, how thankful I am! How in the world did you know I was here?’
‘Happened to be in Berkeley Square when Meg’s coachman took her off,’ he replied. ‘Said young Scorton meant to bring you home. Didn’t like it above half, so I took a hack to Hans Crescent. Thought I’d bring you home myself. Servant said you wasn’t there. So I saw old Scorton—very rum touch! He told me where you were; told me the number of the box. So I came to fetch you away. Thing is, Kit—not the thing!’
‘Oh, Freddy, I know it!’ she said, clasping his hand between both of hers. ‘Pray believe that I would never have consented to have come had I the smallest notion how it would be! But what could I do, when it was all arranged? It has been so very dreadful! You do not know the half! Will Mrs Scorton be offended if you take me home? I would give anything to escape from this vulgar place!’
‘Don’t signify if she is,’ he replied, patting her shoulder in a soothing way. ‘No business to bring you here! You leave it to me!’
‘Oh, yes!’ she sighed gratefully. ‘You will know just how to do!’
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sp; She was perfectly right. Upon Mrs Scorton’s reappearance, she found herself confronted, not by the fool of his family, but by the Honourable Frederick Standen, a Pink of the Pinks, who knew to a nicety how to blend courtesy with hauteur, and who informed her, with exquisite politeness, that he rather fancied his cousin was tired, and would like to be taken home. One of the uninvited guests, entering the box in Eliza’s wake, ventured on a warm sally, found himself being inspected from head to foot through a quizzing-glass, and stammered an apology.
The eye, hideously magnified by the glass, continued to stare at him for an unnerving moment. ‘Ah, just so!’ said Mr Standen, letting the glass fall at last. ‘Come, Kit! Your very obedient, ma’am!’
He allowed his betrothed only time enough to utter a civil word of gratitude for a delightful party, and then bore her away, saying, as he shut the door of the box: ‘Obliged to take you home in a hack, Kit! Nothing for it!’
‘You are welcome to take me home in a wheelbarrow!’ she assured him.
‘Wouldn’t do at all!’ said Mr Standen decidedly. ‘Sort of thing that would be bound to set people’s backs up. Besides, haven’t got a wheelbarrow!’
She gave a shaken laugh. ‘Oh, Freddy, how can you be so absurd, when you are so wise?’
