“Well, your Papa is bound to say something Christian, being a Reverend,” replied Mrs Underhill, in a reasonable spirit. “The ones I pity are the Wedmores—not but what they’d have left that old screw years ago, if they’d had a mite of sense, instead of believing he’d leave them well provided for, which anyone could have guessed he wouldn’t, whatever he may have promised them! How are they going to find another situation at their time of life? Tell me that!”

But as Miss Chartley was quite unable to tell her she only sighed, and shook her head, thus affording Tiffany an opportunity to turn the conversation into another, and, in her view, far more important channel. She asked her aunt how soon after his arrival she meant to call on Sir Waldo.

Mrs Underhill’s origins were humble; with the best will in the world to conduct herself like a lady of quality she had never managed to grasp all the intricacies of the social code. But some things she did know. She exclaimed: “Good gracious, Tiffany, whatever next? As though I didn’t know better than go calling on a gentleman! If your uncle were alive it would have been for him to do, if he’d thought fit, which I daresay he wouldn’t have, any more than I do myself, because what’s the use of leaving cards on this Sir Waldo if he don’t mean to stay at Broom Hall?”

“Then Courtenay must do so!” said Tiffany, paying no heed to the latter part of this speech.

But Courtenay, to her considerable indignation, refused to do anything of the sort. Modesty was not one of his outstanding characteristics, nor were his manners, in his own home, distinguished by propriety; but the suggestion that he, at the age of nineteen, should have the effrontery to thrust himself on Sir Waldo affected him so profoundly that he turned quite pale, and told his cousin that she must be mad to suppose that he would be so impudent.

The urgency with which Miss Wield conducted the ensuing argument, and the burst of angry tears which ended it made Mrs Underhill feel very uneasy.