The Quiet Gentleman

“Ay, I know you! You are a rogue, miss, and think you may twist me round your finger! Come and eat your mutton at Whissenhurst when you feel so inclined, my lord! You know your way, and if you did not, young Martin would show it to you fast enough. No offense, but I’ve a pretty good notion of the way things are at Stanyon, and although I’m sure her ladyship is a very good sort of a woman, I’ll go bail you are yawning till your jaws crack six days out of the seven!”

The Earl laughed, thanked him, and rose to take his leave. As he shook hands with Marianne, she smiled up at him in her innocent way, and said: “Do come again! We sometimes have the merriest parties — everyone comes to them!”

“I shall most certainly come,” Gervase said. “And you, I hope — ” his glance embraced them all — “will honour Stanyon with a visit. My stepmother is planning one or two entertainments: I believe you must shortly be receiving cards from her.”

“Oh, famous!” Marianne cried, clapping her hands. “Will you give a ball at Stanyon? Do say you will! It is the very place for one!”

“Miss Bolderwood has only to give her commands! A ball it shall be!”

“My love, it is time and more that you ceased to be such a sad romp!” said Lady Bolderwood, with a reproving look. “Pray do not heed her, Lord St. Erth!”

She gave him her hand, charged him to deliver her compliments to the Dowager, and Sir Thomas escorted him to the front-door, and stayed chatting to him on the steps, while his horse was brought round from the stables.

“There is no need for you to be giving a ball unless you choose,” he said bluntly. “Puss will have enough of them in another month, and I daresay her Mama don’t care for her to appear at any bang-up affair until after our own ball in Grosvenor Square. We’ll send you a card. But come and visit us in a friendly way when you choose! I like to see young people round me, enjoying themselves, and I remember my old Indian ways enough still to be glad to keep open house.” He chuckled. “No fear of our being dull in the country! If there’s any young spark for twenty-five miles round us whom you won’t find at Whissenhurst, one day or another, I wish I may meet him! But what I say to Mama is, there’s safety in numbers, and I can tell you this, my lord, we ain’t anxious to see our girl married too young! Sometimes I wonder what will become of us, when she sets up her own establishment! There were plenty of people to advise us to bring her out last Season, but, No, we said: there’s time and to spare! Hallo! is this your horse! Now, horseflesh is something I flatter myself I do understand! Ay, grand hocks! forelegs well before him! You’ll hear men praising cocktails, but what I say is, the best is always the best, and give me a thoroughbred every time!”

Chapter 5

It was some time before Martin returned to Stanyon, his friend having persuaded him, with the best intentions possible, to accompany him to his parental home. Mr. Warboys, inured by custom to Martin’s tantrums, formed the praiseworthy scheme of allowing that young gentleman’s wrath time to cool before he again encountered his half-brother. In itself, the scheme was excellent, but it was rendered abortive first by the encomiums bestowed by Mrs. Warboys, a fat and very nearly witless lady of forty summers, on the very pronounced degree of good-looks enjoyed by the Earl; and second by a less enthusiastic but by far more caustic remark uttered by Mr. Warboys, senior, to the effect that Martin, his own son, and almost every other young aspirant to the Beauty’s favours could be thought to stand no chance at all against a belted Earl.

“Unless Bolderwood is a bigger fool than I take him for,” he said, “he will lose no time in securing St. Erth for that chit of his!”

Shocked by such a display of tactlessness on the part of his progenitors, Mr. Warboys, junior, said: “Shouldn’t think St. Erth has any serious intentions, myself!”

It was perhaps not surprising that the cumulative effect of these remarks should have sent Martin Frant back to Stanyon in a mood of smouldering anger.