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The gentleman grinned. “There, now. I see I need have no scruple in putting myself forward for your inspection.”
Maidie was betrayed into a giggle. She liked this frank, open manner. A trifle of mischief lit her eyes. “Will you submit to a catechism, then? I should require to know everything about you.”
“You may ask anyone,” returned Wiveliscombe, throwing one hand to his heart. “My life is an open book. But I am too modest to answer any questions you may have. I would be bound to sound like a coxcomb.”
“You are a coxcomb, Wiveliscombe,” cut in the voice of Darby Hampford.
Maidie looked up quickly, and caught his eye. He was standing before them, his air very much that of a dog who was doubtful of his welcome.
“My dear Hampford,” said Wiveliscombe in a pained tone, “have you not grace enough to accept defeat? Lady Mary, you will not allow this fellow to oust me, I trust.”
“She will, because she is too good a creature to deny me the opportunity to redeem myself.”
This was really too much. Easy enough to adhere to her resolve with such a man as Wiveliscombe. But on the other hand, Maidie could not make a decision about him on the spur of the moment, or on so short an acquaintance, and she did not wish him to suppose she favoured him more than another. It was quite a different matter, however, to wilfully subject herself to the company of Darby Hampford.
Before she could make any move, the decision was taken out of her hands. Wiveliscombe rose. “Never let it be said I took an unfair advantage. Do your worst, Hampford. I am persuaded Lady Mary has good taste enough to prefer my pretensions to your own.”
This outrageous speech was said with such a merry look Maidie felt unable to take umbrage. Besides, he was perfectly right. Darby Hampford was a sham, which Wiveliscombe was not, and Great-uncle would certainly have disapproved of him. As the latter bowed and departed, Maidie caught sight of a shy young man hovering a few feet away. With a swift movement, she thrust Hampford away as he made to sit down.
“There is Mr Lugton! Don’t sit down, for I wish to speak to him.” She beckoned, and the young man approached.
“But, Lady Mary, you will not send me away in favour of Sholto Lugton?”
“Yes, I will. Oh, if you wish it, we can talk another time. Only go away now, do.”
In deep offence, Hampford left the field. Maidie turned to the boy, for he was little more, and smiled encouragingly. He was a gangling youth, a trifle tongue-tied and self-conscious, with an anxious pallid face topped by a thatch of bright red hair which had at once commanded Maidie’s sympathy.
“Sit beside me, Sholto. You do not mind if I call you Sholto, do you?”
The youth shook his head, stammering a little. “N-not at all, Lady M-Mary.”
Maidie did what she could to put him at ease, quite forgetting for the moment he was a suitor to her hand. Not that he had made his aspirations clear for himself, but Lady Hester had numbered him among the fortune-hunters, with a passing comment on the unfortunate nature of his circumstances. His father was dead, his mother sickly, and a very modest competence was inadequate to cope with the need to dispose suitably of two sisters. He must marry money, or take up an occupation of some kind. He was ill equipped for either, but hung about every heiress with all the air of a forlorn hope. Maidie was sorry for him.
She had just succeeded in getting him to talk a little about his aspirations, which appeared to consist of finding something he could set his hand to without any very clear idea of what that might be, when there was a further interruption.
“Lady Mary, may I request a word with you—alone?”
Maidie jumped, her heart leaping into her mouth. Delagarde’s voice was icy, and his eyes, when hers flew to meet them, were smouldering. Too much discomposed to recall her fury with him, Maidie took the imperative hand he was holding out and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He drew her hand within his arm, but maintained his grip on her fingers. Then he turned to Sholto Lugton, who had risen, a look of alarm in his face.
“You must excuse us, Lugton.”
“Y-yes, sir. Of c-course.”
Her heart thumping painfully, Maidie tried to protest as Delagarde drew her inexorably to the door of the saloon, and into the gallery beyond.
“What do you think you are doing, Delagarde?”
“I was about to ask you the same question,” he returned in a low tone, but with a thread of vibrant passion running through it. “We will wait, however, until we are safely out of earshot of the saloon.”
Maidie said nothing, for she was glad of the respite as he walked her towards the far end of the long narrow gallery which ran down one side of Lady Wingrove’s mansion. By the time Delagarde halted, she had sufficient command over herself to meet his eyes steadily as he released her imprisoned hand, and turned to confront her.
“May I ask what that revolting exhibition was in aid of?”
His blighting tone instantly drew Maidie’s temper. “No, you may not! In any event, I don’t in the least understand what you mean.”
“Then I will tell you. To sit in ceremonial state and interview one fortune-hunter after another, as if you were passing each of them under review—”
“Which is exactly what I was doing!”
