"So she told me," says t.i.ta. "But, then, he is so _very_ far off, and in your Society distance counts."
Rylton regards her with some surprise. Is she satirical?--this silly _child!_
"You will have to correct your ideas about Society," says he coldly.
"By all means ask Mrs. Chichester here, too; I, for one, prefer not to believe in scandals."
"One must believe in something," says t.i.ta. "I suppose," pencil poised in hand, "you would like to ask Mr. Gower?"
"Certainly."
"And his aunt?"
"Certainly _not."_
"Oh, but _I_ should," says t.i.ta; "she amuses me. Do let us ask old Miss Gower!"
"I begin to think you are a wicked child," says Rylton, laughing, whereon Miss Gower"s name is scrawled down on the list. "There are the men from the barracks in Merriton; they can always be asked over," goes on Maurice. "And now, who else?"
"The Marchmonts!"
"Of course." He pauses. "And then--there is Mrs. Bethune!"
"Your cousin! Yes!"
"Shall we ask her?"
"Why should we _not_ ask her?" She lifts one small, delicate, brown hand, and, laying it on his cheek, turns his face to hers. "Don"t look out of the window; look at _me_. Why should we not ask her?"
"My dear girl, there is no answer to such a question as that."
"No!" She scribbles Mrs. Bethune"s name on her list, and then, "You particularly _wish_ her to be asked?"
"Not particularly. Certainly not at all if you object to it."
"Object! Why should I object? She is amusing--she will keep us all alive; she will help you to entertain your people."
"I should hope you, t.i.ta, would help me to do that."
"Oh, I have not the air--the manner! I shall feel like a guest myself," says t.i.ta. She has sprung to her feet, and is now blowing a little feather she had found upon her frock up into the air. It eludes her, however; she follows it round the small table, but all in vain--it sinks to the ground. "What a _beast_ of a feather!" says she.
"I don"t like you to say that," says Rylton. "A _guest _in your own house!"
"You don"t like me to say anything," says t.i.ta petulantly. "I _told_ you I was horrid. Well, I"ll be mistress in my own house, if that will please you. But," prophetically, "it won"t. Do you know, Maurice," looking straight at him with a defiant little mien, "I"m more glad that I can tell you that I don"t care a ha"penny about you, because if I did you would break my heart."
"You have a high opinion of me!" says Maurice. "That I acknowledge.
But, regarding me as you do, I wonder you ever had the courage to marry me!"
"Well, even _you_ are better than Uncle George," says she. "Now, go on; is there anyone else? The Heriots! Who are they? I heard you speak of them."
"Ordinary people; but he shoots. He is a first-cla.s.s shot."
"Heriot! It reminds me----" t.i.ta grows silent a moment, and now a little flood of colour warms her face. "I have someone I want to ask, after all," cries she. "A cousin--Tom Hescott."
"A cousin?"
"Yes. And he has a sister--Minnie Hescott. I should like to ask them both." She looks at him. "They are quite presentable," says she whimsically.
"Your cousins should be, naturally," says he.
Yet his heart sinks. What sort of people are these Hescotts?
"I have not seen them for years," says t.i.ta--"never since I lived with my father. Tom used to be with us always then, but he went abroad."
"To Australia?"
"Oh no--to Rome! To Rome first, at all events; he was going to India after that."
"For----"
"Nothing--nothing at all. Just to see the world!"
"He must have had a good deal of money!"
"More than was good for him, I often heard. But I _did_ like Tom; and I heard he was in town last week, and Minnie with him, and I should like very much indeed to ask them here."
"Well, scribble down their names."
"I dare say they won"t come," says t.i.ta, writing.
"Why?"
"Oh, because they know such lots of people. However, I"ll try them, any way." She flings down her pencil. "There, that"s done; and now I shall go and have a ride before luncheon."
"You have been riding all the morning!"
"Yes."
"Do you never get tired?"
"Never! Come and see if I do."
"Well, I"ll come," says Rylton.
_"Really!"_ cries t.i.ta; her eyes grow very bright. "You mean it?"
"Certainly I do. It is my place, you know, to see that you don"t overdo it."
"Oh, how delightful!" says she, clasping her hands. "I hate riding alone. We"ll go right over the downs, and back of Scart Hill, and so home. Come on--come on," running out of the room; "don"t be a minute dressing."