“Let me assure you, Felix,” said the lady in quelling accents, “that nothing is further from my intentions! Far be it from me to seek to make mischief!”

“Just as well,” responded the intrepid Mr. Hethersett. “Very likely to give you one of his set-downs!”

Nell was quite overcome by such a display of heroism on her behalf, but Mr. Hethersett disclaimed heroism. Having watched through a quizzing-glass which hideously magnified his eye the retreat of the dowager, he assured Nell that he had spoken nothing more than the truth. “No need to fear Cardross would listen to her tales,” he said. “What’s more, he must know you couldn’t stop Letty dancing with anyone. Doubt whether he could do it himself.”

It seemed as though the Earl shared this doubt. He had not returned from a dinner given by the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks when the ladies were set down in Grosvenor Square sometime after midnight, but he visited his bride later in the morning. He found her with a breakfast-tray across her knees, the curtains of her bed drawn back in billowing folds of rosy silk. She was engaged, between sips of coffee and nibbles at a slice of bread-and butter, in reading her correspondence. This seemed, from the litter on the counterpane, to consist largely of gilt-edged invitations, but there was a letter, crossed and recrossed, from her mama, which she was trying to decipher when Cardross came into the room. She put it down at once, and tried to tuck back the ringlets which had strayed from under her becoming night-cap of muslin and lace. “My lord! Oh, dear, I did not think you would be coming to see me so early, and I am dreadfully untidy!”

“Don’t!” he said, capturing her hand, and kissing it. “You look charmingly, I assure you. Was it amusing, your party?”

“Yes, thank you. That is—it was just one of the Assemblies, at Almack’s, you know.”