Cressy’s voice intruded upon these reflections, telling him that the arrival that morning of the post with the previous day’s London papers had ruffled the temper of one of his guests. She said this very gravely, but he was not deceived, and replied promptly: “You terrify me! Tell me the worst!”
Her mouth quivered. “It is very bad, I warn you! Your uncle has seen that the Gazette and the Morning Post have received the information that your mama has left London for Ravenhurst Park, and he is very much put out.”
He knew that Lady Denville had sent this notice to the two journals Evelyn was most likely to read; but what concern it was of Cosmo’s he had no idea. Cressy, meeting the surprised question in his eyes with a decided twinkle in her own, said reproachfully: “One would have supposed that dear Godmama would have thought it proper to have mentioned that she was entertaining visitors to Ravenhurst, amongst whom—”
“—are the Hon. Cosmo and Mrs Cliffe, and Ambrose Cliffe, all of whom their host wishes otherwhere!”
“I don’t think that was precisely how he feels the notice should have been phrased,” she said, in a considering tone.
He laughed. “I’m very sure it’s not! Feels he has been slighted does he? What the deuce does it matter to him? You’d think he must be some trumped up April-squire, wouldn’t you?”
“I dare say it may come of his being a younger son.”
“No, that it does not!” he exclaimed, revolted.
She glanced speculatively at him. “A younger son jealous of his elder brother’s position, and one who has made no mark in the world,” she amended.
He had by this time recollected himself, and merely said: “No, it comes from having a maggoty disposition and a vast quantity of self-importance.”
She told him that he was too severe, and passed easily to an indifferent subject. They continued chatting companion-ably on a variety of topics until Cressy, hearing the stable-clock strike the hour, remembered her promise to her hostess, and was conscience-smitten by the realization that she must have kept her waiting for at least twenty minutes. This, she exclaimed, was the height of bad manners; and despite all Kit’s amused assurances that his mother was more likely to have forgotten that she had planned to send out her invitation cards that morning than to complain of her young guest’s want of conduct, she insisted on hastening back to the house. Kit went with her, offering her handsome odds against the chance that his mother would be found, as expected, in her own drawing-room. But she was found there, though with no thought of directing invitations in her head. She was standing in front of the gilded mirror hanging above the fireplace, surveying, with every sign of disapprobation, her own delightful reflection. A litter of crumpled wrapping-paper on the floor, an open box on the table, with a necklace composed of fine topazes set in filigree lying beside it, indicated that she had received a valuable package from London; sent, possibly, and at a moderate charge, through the medium of the Newhaven Mailcoach, and deposited, with the post, at the receiving office in Nutley; and more probably, as Kit knew, by a special messenger, at large cost.
It was difficult to perceive why Lady Denville was dissatisfied with her appearance, for she was attired in an underdress of deep gold, which matched her hair, veiled by a tunic of pale muslin, and the effect was at once dashing, and extremely becoming, but she speedily explained the matter. “Was there anything ever more provoking?” she demanded. “I purchased these horrid beads, because it struck me that they were just the thing to wear with this dress, and I even had them restrung to the exact length I required, and now I don’t like them at all! In fact, I think them hideous!”
“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Cressy. “The most beautiful clear amber! How can you call them hideous, ma’am? You look charmingly!”
“No, Cressy, I do not look charmingly!” said her ladyship firmly. “I don’t know how it is, but no matter how dear they may be, there is something about beads which makes one look shabby-genteel. If I were to wear these, even Emma would think I bought made-up clothes in Cranbourne Alley!”
This seemed an unlikely contingency, but neither Kit nor Cressy ventured to say so. Kit, picking up the topaz necklace, asked, with a sinking heart, if she had bought it at the same time.
“Oh, no, dearest! I bought that long before!” she replied, elevating his spirits for a brief moment. “Weeks ago, when I chose the silk for this underdress! But you may see for yourself that the stones are made to look insipid, worn with this particular shade of yellow. I was afraid they would, but it is such a pretty necklace that I don’t regret having purchased it. If I had some earrings made to match it, I could wear it with a pale yellow evening gown, couldn’t I? But those amber beads I will not wear!”
“No, don’t!” said Kit. “Send them back to the jeweller!”
She considered this suggestion, but decided against it. “No, I have a better notion! I shall give them to your cousin Kate! I don’t suppose you remember her, but she is Baverstock’s second daughter, and never has anything pretty to wear, because your odious Aunt Amelia won’t spend a groat more than she need on her until she has snabbled a husband for Maria—which I shouldn’t think she will ever do, for she’s a plain girl, and has been out for three Seasons already.” She unclasped the amber string, and laid it aside, and said, smiling brilliantly upon her audience: “So it turns out to be for the best, after all, and I must wear my pearls, until I find just what I have in mind! Did you want me particularly, my dears?”