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“Oh!” said Pen doubtfully. “And did it?”

“No! He said he did not believe me.”

“Well, I must say I’m not surprised at that’

“Yes, but in the end he did, and now I wish I had never said it. He said if there was Another Man, who was it?”

“You ought to have thought of that. He was bound to ask that question, and you must have looked very silly when you could not answer.”

“But I did answer!” whispered Miss Daubenay, apparently overcome.

“But how could you, if there wasn’t another man?”

“I said it was you!” said Miss Daubenay despairingly.

Chapter 10

The effect of this confession upon Pen was not quite what Miss Daubenay had expected. She gasped, choked, and went off into a peal of laughter. Affronted, Miss Daubenay said: “I don’t see what there is to laugh at!”

“No, I dare say you don’t,” said Pen, mopping her eyes. “But it is excessively amusing for all that. What made you say anything so silly?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else to say. And as for its being silly, you may think me very ill-favoured, but I have already had several suitors!”

“I think you are very pretty, but I am not going to be a suitor,” said Pen firmly.

“I don’t want you to be! For one thing, I find you quite odiously rude, and for another you are much too young, which is why I chose you, because I thought I should be quite safe in so doing.”

“Well you are, but I never heard of anything so foolish in my life! Pray, what was the use of telling your father such fibs?”

“I told you,” said Lydia crossly. “I scarcely knew what I was saying, and I thought—But everything has gone awry!”

Pen looked at her with misgiving. “What do you mean?”

“Papa is going to wait on your cousin this morning.”

“What!” exclaimed Pen.

Lydia nodded. “Yes, and he is not angry at all. He is pleased!”

“Pleased? How can he be pleased at your holding clandestine meetings with a strange man?”

“To be sure, he did say that that was very wrong of me. But he asked me your name. Of course I don’t know it, but your cousin told me his name was Wyndham, so I said yours was too.”

“But it isn’t!”

“Well, how was I to know that?” demanded Lydia, aggrieved. “I had to say something!”

“You are the most unprincipled girl in the world! Besides, why should he be pleased just because you said my name was Wyndham?”

“Apparently,” said Lydia gloomily, “the Wyndhams are all fabulously wealthy.”

“You must tell him without any loss of time I am not a Wyndham, and that I haven’t any money at all!”

“How can I tell him anything of the kind? I think you are being most unreasonable! Do but consider! If I said now that I had been mistaken in your name he would suppose you to have been trifling with me!”

“But you cannot expect me to pretend to be in love with you!” Pen said, aghast.

Lydia sniffed. “Nothing could be more repulsive to me than such a notion. I am already sorry that I mentioned you to Papa. Only I did, and now I don’t know what to do. He would be so angry if he knew that I had made it all up!”

“Well, I am very sorry, but it seems to me quite your own fault, and I wash my hands of it,” said Pen.

She glanced at Miss Daubenay’s flower-like countenance, and made a discovery. Miss Daubenay’s soft chin had acquired a look of obstinacy; the fawn-like eyes stared back at her with a mixture of appeal and determination. “You can’t wash your hands of it. I told you that Papa was going to seek an interview with your cousin to-day.”

“You must stop him.”

“I can’t. You don’t know Papa!”

“No, and I don’t want to know him,” Pen pointed out.

“If I told him it had all been lies, I do not know what he might not do. I won’t do it! I don’t care what you may say: I won’t!”

“Well, I shall deny every word of your story.”

“Then,” said Lydia, not without triumph, “Papa will do something dreadful to you, because he will think it is you who are telling lies!”

“It seems to me that unless he is a great fool he must know you well enough by now to guess that it is you who have told lies!” said Pen, with asperity.

“It’s no use being disagreeable and rude,” said Lydia. “Papa thinks you followed me to Queen Charlton.”

“You mean you told him so,” said Pen bitterly.

“Yes, I did. At least, he asked me, and I said yes before I had had time to think.”

“Really, you are the most brainless creature! Do you never think?” said Pen, quite exasperated. “Just look what a coil you’ve created! Either your Papa is coming to ask me what my intentions are, or—which I think a great deal more likely—to complain to Richard about my conduct! Oh dear, whatever will Richard say to this fresh disturbance?”

It was plain that all this meant nothing to Miss Daubenay. For form’s sake, she repeated that she was very sorry, but added: “I hoped you would be able to help me. But you are a boy! You don’t understand what it means to be persecuted as I am!”

This remark could not but strike a chord of sympathy. “As a matter of fact, I do know,” said Pen. “Only, if helping you means offering for your hand, I won’t do it. The more I think of it, the more ridiculous it seems to me that you should have dragged me into it. How could such an absurd tale possibly be of use?”

Lydia sighed. “One does not think of those things in the heat of the moment. Besides, I didn’t really mean to drag you in. It—it just happened.”

“I don’t see how it could have happened if you didn’t mean it.”

“One thing led to another,” Lydia explained vaguely. “Almost before I knew it, the whole story had—had grown up. Of course I don’t wish you to offer for my hand, but I do think you might pretend you want to, so that Papa shan’t suspect me of telling lies.”

“No!” said Pen.

“I think you are very unkind,” whimpered Lydia. “I shall be sent back to Bath, and Great-Aunt Augusta will spy on me, and I shall never see Piers again!”

“Who?” Pen’s head was jerked round. “Who will you never see again?”

“Oh, please do not ask me! I did not mean to mention his name!”

“Are you—” Pen stopped, rather white of face, and started again: “Are you betrothed to Piers Luttrell?”

“You know him!” Miss Daubenay clasped ecstatic hands.

“Yes,” said Pen, feeling as though the pit of her stomach had suddenly vanished. “Yes, I know him.”

“Then you will help me!”

Miss Creed’s clear blue eyes met Miss Daubenay’s swimming brown ones. Miss Creed drew a long breath. “Is—is Piers indeed in love with you?” she asked incredulously.

Miss Daubenay bridled. “You need not sound so surprised! We have been plighted for a whole year! Why do you look so oddly?”

“I beg your pardon,” apologized Pen. “But how he must have changed! It is very awkward!”

“Why?” asked Lydia, staring.

“Well, it—it—you wouldn’t understand. Has he been meeting you in woods for a whole year?”

“No, because Papa sent me to Bath, and Sir Jasper forbade him to see me any more, and even Lady Luttrell said we were too young. But we love each other!”

“It seems extraordinary,” said Pen, shaking her head. “You know, I find it very hard to believe!”

“You are the horridest boy! It is perfectly true, and if you know Piers you may ask him for yourself! I wish I had never clapped eyes on you!”

“So do I,” replied Pen frankly.

Miss Daubenay burst into tears. Pen surveyed her with interest, and asked presently in the voice of one probing mysteries: “Do you always cry as much as this? Do you—do you cry at Piers?”

“I don’t cry at people!” sobbed Miss Daubenay. “And if Piers knew how horrid you have been to me he would very likely knock you down!”