"Well, Percy, my boy, what do you tot them up to come to?" inquired
Gage jovially as they turned from an impressive adieu to their guests
who drove off radiant--at least as far as Lady Ormstork was
concerned--at the success of their visit.
"They're all right," Peckover answered somewhat gloomily. Considering
the poor time he had had as the medium through which the wily peeress
desired to convey certain information to his friend he could scarcely
be expected to emulate that gentleman's enthusiasm.
"Right? I should think so," Gage exclaimed with emphasis. "The girl
is simply scrumptious."
"I dare say," Peckover returned, with a jealous twinge. "Rather
different from our friends at the Moat, eh?"
"Slightly. There's no comparison. She's a real beauty, and full of
fun."
"Oh, you found that out, did you?" Peckover observed curiously.
"Rather. This is the sort of Lord Quorn I'm paying for."
"She has a lot of money," said Peckover.
"How do you know?"
"The old lady-bird told me so. Confidential old party. Good as
admitted they had come down here to have a dash at you."
"Me?" cried Gage, much interested.
"Your title. Or, rather mine," his friend declared sombrely, so
dismally, indeed, that Gage said--
"Come, you are not going to repent? This is what I paid for. I told
you so at the outset."
"Oh, yes," Peckover agreed. "It's fair enough," and with the image of
Miss Buffkin's commanding beauty in his heart, he darkly resolved to
try whether some of her smiles might not in future be for him.
Lady Ormstork was, as might have been confidently anticipated, as good
as her word. Almost every day she brought the fair Miss Buffkin to
Staplewick, and on those that were missed the two friends contrived to
find an excuse for calling at Cracknels, as the villa, built by a
retired biscuit baker, was named. The game was not a very pleasant one
for Peckover, seeing that in it the dowager was invariably his partner,
nevertheless he continued to stick to it doggedly in the hope that his
opportunity for making running with the captivating Ulrica would surely
come.
Accordingly he disguised his feelings and the alertness with which he
waited for an opening to assert his powers of fascination, making
himself the while as agreeable and attentive to the astutely meandering
peeress as the nature of her society talk permitted.
"Lord Quorn and dear Ulrica seem to have taken quite a fancy to one
another," she remarked one afternoon, tactfully leading the way so as
to give a wide berth to a plantation of rhododendrons in the midst of
which she had reason to suspect the other pair of promenaders was
lingering. "Don't you think so, Mr. Gage?"
"Looks like it," answered Peckover with a sardonic curl of the lip.
"You are his great friend. He would naturally confide in you,"
observed the lady with a pointed invitation to betray the said
confidence.
"Oh, yes. He is very far gone," was the somewhat ill-humoured reply.
"No need for him to mention it, so long as I retain my eyesight."
"I am inclined to think," Lady Ormstork observed meditatively, "that
the alliance would not be at all a bad thing."
"No?" Peckover, smarting under his confederate's good fortune, would
not commit himself to an opinion.
"Don't you think so?" the dowager asked suavely.
"I don't blame old Quorn," Peckover replied, rather crudely. "As to
whether Ul--Miss Buffkin might not do better is a matter of opinion."
"Possibly she might; or she might do worse," was the sage response.
"After all, Quorn is a charming fellow."
"Oh, yes," his friend assented in a tone so warped that it seemed to
signify, "Oh, no."
"It's a fine old title," said the lady reflectively.
"Title's all right," he agreed equivocally.
"Undeniable," Lady Ormstork maintained. "But of course, my dear Mr.
Gage, you understand that advantage would weigh nothing with me if
Quorn were not genuinely fond of Ulrica."
"Just so," responded Peckover with a wink at a passing swallow.
"Naturally," she pursued, "you will see my position is a somewhat
delicate one. It is on that account, my dear Mr. Gage, that I make no
scruple in asking you, a clever man of the world--if I may call you
so----"
"Oh, don't mention it," he replied glibly.
"I'm asking you not to let me be in the dark as to your friend's real
feelings and intentions. For if I were sure that Quorn had no idea of
proposing I should consider it my duty to take Ulrica away from here at
once."
"He has not expressed any such intention to me," Peckover replied,
brightening a little.
"But surely you think he will, he must?" demanded the lady anxiously.
"Yes, he should by rights," Peckover agreed. "But he may not be a
marrying man."
Lady Ormstork looked scandalized. "Every man is a marrying man when he
meets a girl like Ulrica. Besides, it is the duty of every peer to
marry, or what will become of our old nobility? Heaven only knows to
whom, as matters stand, the Quorn title will go next."
Peckover had an idea that he could claim to share the knowledge. "He
ought to come to a firm offer if he means business," he said.
"Our time here is getting short," Lady Ormstork declared significantly.
Not but what she was prepared to grace Great Bunbury with her presence
for a twelvemonth if that were likely to bring off the match. "As
Ulrica's temporary guardian I cannot allow Quorn to flirt with her
indefinitely if he has no intention of proposing."
"No," Peckover responded promptly, wondering how he could get a look
in. Then a happy idea struck him. "Quorn is a shilly-shallying
fellow," he said guilefully. "Can't make up his mind. I usually have
to do it for him."
"I wish you would in this instance," the lady exclaimed fervently.
"Well, I think I might," he replied with sudden animation. "But of
course it won't do for me to tell him straight he ought to propose.
He'd see you working the figure. No, I've got a more artful plan than
that."
"Oh, you dear Mr. Gage!" cried Lady Ormstork, brightening at the
prospect of an end to her uninteresting sojourn at The Cracknels. "Do
tell me."
"Easy enough," said Peckover, sparkling likewise; "and highly
effective. One trial will prove it, or money returned. Make him
jealous."
"How can we?" asked the dowager with a dubiousness which her companion
did not find altogether complimentary.
"Leave it to me," he replied, his sparkle subsiding to a touch of
huffiness. "Don't you think I'm equal to it?"
"Oh, yes, indeed, dear Mr. Gage," the lady drawled, eyeing him still
rather doubtfully.
"Don't you make any mistake about it," he protested severely. "I
always was first favourite with the ladies, and Quorn knows it--to his
cost, I may tell you."
"And you are still friends?" was the astute comment.
"Sworn friends," Peckover replied with much truth. "I'll prove it by
making up his mind for him to marry the finest girl in England."
"And what is your plan?" Lady Ormstork inquired approvingly.
Rapidly the alert little mind had blocked in the outline of his scheme.
"Let me make the running for a lap or two," he suggested. "If that
doesn't hurry him up, nothing will. You come up as usual to-morrow;
I'll slip away from Quorn, meet you, and go off for a stroll with Miss
Ulrica. You come on to the Hall. Tell Quorn offhand, when he asks,
what has become of the young lady. Say she thought she'd prefer a
stroll with me for a change, and if he sits still after that it's odds
against Miss Buffkin being Lady Quorn. You watch the effect."
Lady Ormstork looked as though she might be safely trusted to keep her
eyes open for it.
Next day things happened as had been arranged. Peckover made a timely
desertion, and Lady Ormstork arrived at the Towers dignified and alone.
"Not brought Miss Buffkin to-day?" Gage asked, trying to look as though
he had still got the better half of the Cracknels establishment. "Hope
she's not ill?"
"Oh, dear no," Lady Ormstork answered sweetly. "She is here. But we
met your charming friend, Mr. Gage, just by the lodge gates, and dear
Ulrica said she had been cramped up in the fly long enough, so she got
out to stroll up through the park."
Gage evidently experienced some difficulty in looking as pleased as a
host should at the idea of his guest doing what pleases her best. "I
see," he said, uneasily reflective. "Shall we walk back and meet them?
It's a lovely day."
"So Ulrica thought," the astutely suave lady responded. "And the park
looked so tempting. Yes, a short stroll would be delightful."
Accordingly they made their way down the drive at a pace which, set by
the deliberate old peeress, ill accorded with Gage's impatience.
Naturally Peckover had foreseen this move, and had proposed a
circuitous and covert route to the house. Ulrica, quite privy to the
scheme, offered no objection.
"Sun's rather hot," Peckover observed, when the carriage with its
guileful occupant had rolled away from them. "Let's keep under the
trees."
Ulrica laughed, and took without comment the path he indicated.