Upon her butler's announcing the arrival of Mr Ravenscar, Lady Mablethorpe, who had been dozing over a novel from the Circulating Library, sat up with a jerk, and raised a hand to her dishevelled cap. 'What's that you say? Mr Ravenscar? Desire him to come upstairs at once.'

While the butler went to convey this message to the morningcaller, her ladyship tidied her ruffled person, fortified herself with a sniff at her vinaigrette, and disposed herself on the sofa to receive her guest.

The gentleman who was presently ushered into the room was some twenty years her junior, and looked singularly out of place in a lady's boudoir. He was very tall, with a good pair of legs, encased in buckskins and topboots, fine broad shoulders under a coat of superfine cloth, and a lean, harsh-featured countenance with an uncompromising mouth and extremely hard grey eyes. His hair, which was black, and slightly curling, was cut into something perilously near a Bedford crop. Lady Mablethorpe, who belonged to an older generation, and herself continued to make free use of the pounce-box, in spite of Mr Pitt's iniquitous tax on hair-powder, could never look upon the new heads without a shudder. She shuddered now, as her affronted gaze took in not only her nephew's abominable crop but also the careless set of his coat, his topboots, the single spur he wore, and the negligent way he had tied his cravat, and thrust its ends through a gold-edged buttonhole. She raised the vinaigrette to her nostrils again, and said in a fading voice: 'Upon my word, Max! Whenever I clap eyes on you I fancy I can smell the stables!'

Mr Ravenscar strolled across the room, and took up a position with his back to the fire. 'And can you?' he enquired amiably. Lady Mablethorpe chose to ignore this exasperating question. 'Why, in the name of heaven, only one spur?' she demanded.

'That's the high kick of fashion,' said Ravenscar.

'It makes you look for all the world like a postilion.'

'It's meant to.'

'And you know very well that you do not care a snap for the fashion! I beg you will not teach Adrian to make such a vulgar spectacle of himself !'

Mr Ravenscar raised his brows. 'I'm not likely to put myself to so much trouble,' he said.

This assurance did nothing to mollify his aunt. She said severely that the fashion of waiting upon ladies in garments fit only for Newmarket was not one which she had until this day encountered.

'I've this instant ridden into town,' said Mr Ravenscar, with an indifference which robbed his explanation of all semblance of apology. 'I thought you wanted to see me.'

'I have been wanting to see you these five days and more.

Where in the world have you been, tiresome creature? I drove round Grosvenor Square, only to find the house shut up, and the knocker off the door.'

'I've been down at Chamfreys.'

'Oh, indeed! Well, I'm sure I hope you found your Mama in good health — not but what it's the height of absurdity to call Mrs Ravenscar your mother, for she's no such thing, and of all the foolish —'

'I don't,' said Ravenscar briefly.

'Well, I hope you found her in good health,' repeated Lady Mablethorpe, a trifle disconcerted.

'I didn't find her at all. She is at Tunbridge Wells, with Arabella.'

At the mention of her niece, Lady Mablethorpe's eyes brightened.

'The dear child!' she said. 'And how is she, Max?'

The thought of his young half-sister appeared to afford Mr Ravenscar no gratification. 'She's a devilish nuisance,' he replied.

A shade of uneasiness crossed her ladyship's plump countenance.

'Oh, indeed? Of course, she is very young, and I daresay Mrs Ravenscar indulges her more than she should. But —'

'Olivia is as big a fool as Arabella,' responded Ravenscar shortly. 'They are both coming up to town next week. The 14th Foot are stationed near the Wells.'

This grim pronouncement apparently conveyed a world of information to Lady Mablethorpe. After a somewhat pensive pause, she said: 'It is time dear Arabella was thinking of marriage. After all, I was married when I was scarce —'

'She never thinks of anything else,' said Ravenscar. 'The latest is some nameless whelp in a scarlet coat.'

'You ought to keep her more under your eye,' said his aunt.

'You are as much her guardian as Mrs Ravenscar.'

'I'm going to,' said Ravenscar.

'Perhaps if we could marry her suitably —'

'My dear ma'am,' said Mr Ravenscar impatiently, 'Arabella is no more fit to be married than if she were still in long coats! I have it from Olivia that she has been head over ears in love with no fewer than five aspiring gentlemen in as many months.'

'Good God, Max! If you don't take care, we shall have some dreadful fortune-hunter running off with her!'

'It wouldn't surprise me at all.'

Lady Mablethorpe showed slight signs of agitation. 'You are the most provoking creature! How can you talk in that cool way about such a disastrous possibility?'