When last heard of, Conway had had the good fortune to be appointed to Lord Hill’s staff, and was stationed at Cambray. He had been unable to write at much length to Venetia because the Great Man was expected, and there was to be a Review, followed by a dinner-party, which meant that the staff was kept busy. He knew she would understand exactly how it was, and he remained her affectionate brother Conway. P.S. I don’t know which field you mean—you had best do what Powick thinks right.

“And for anything he cares she may live all her days at Undershaw, and die an old maid!” tearfully declared Lady Denny.

“She is more likely to marry Edward Yardley,” responded her lord prosaically.

“I have nothing to say against Edward Yardley—indeed, I believe him to be a truly estimable person!—but I have always said, and I always shall say, that it would be throwing herself away! If only our own dear Oswald were ten years older, Sir John!”

But here the conversation took an abrupt turn, Sir John’s evil genius prompting him to exclaim that he hoped such a fine-looking girl had more sense than to look twice at the silliest puppy in the county. As he added a rider to the effect that it was high time his wife stopped encouraging Oswald to make a cake of himself with his play-acting ways, Venetia was forgotten in a pretty spirited interchange of conflicting opinions.

None would have denied that Venetia was a fine-looking girl; most would not have hesitated to call her beautiful. Amongst the pick of the debutants at Almack’s she must have attracted attention; in the more restricted society in which she dwelt she was a nonpareil.