“Thank you, I’m waiting for my uncle; he’s just coming.”

“The reverend gentleman?”

Dinny nodded.

“Ah! He’s a good man, is the Vicar. That girl got off?”

“Yes.”

“Well! Mistakes will ‘appen. Here he is, Miss.”

Hilary came up and put his arm through Dinny’s.

“Ah! Sergeant,” he said, “how’s the Missis?”

“Prime, Sir. So you pulled her out of it?”

“Yes,” said Hilary; “and I want a pipe. Come along, Dinny.” And, nodding to the sergeant, he led her into the air.

“What brought YOU into this galley, Dinny?”

“I came after you, Uncle. Aunt May brought me. Did that girl really not do it?”

“Ask me another. But to convict her was the surest way to send her to hell. She’s behind with her rent, and her sister’s ill. Hold on a minute while I light up.” He emitted a cloud of smoke and resumed her arm. “What do you want of me, my dear?”

“An introduction to Lord Saxenden.”

“Snubby Bantham? Why?”

“Because of Hubert.”

“Oh! Going to vamp him?”

“If you’ll bring us together.”

“I was at Harrow with Snubby, he was only a baronet then—I haven’t seen him since.”

“But you’ve got Wilfred Bentworth in your pocket, Uncle, and their estates march.”

“Well, I daresay Bentworth will give me a note to him for you.”

“That’s not what I want. I want to meet him socially.”

“Um! Yes, you can hardly vamp him without. What’s the point, exactly?”

“Hubert’s future. We want to get at the fountain-head before worse befalls.”

“I see. But look here, Dinny, Lawrence is your man. He has Bentworth going to them at Lippinghall on Tuesday next week, for partridge driving. You could go too.”

“I thought of Uncle Lawrence, but I couldn’t miss the chance of seeing you, Uncle.”

“My dear,” said Hilary, “attractive nymphs mustn’t say things like that. They go to the head. Well, here we are! Come in and have tea.”

In the drawing room of the Vicarage Dinny was startled to see again her Uncle Adrian. He was sitting in a corner with his long legs drawn in, surrounded by two young women who looked like teachers. He waved his spoon, and presently came over to her.

“After we parted, Dinny, who should appear but the man of wrath himself, to see my Peruvians.”

“Not Hallorsen?”

Adrian held out a card: ‘Professor Edward Hallorsen,’ and in pencil, ‘Piedmont Hotel.’

“He’s a much more personable bloke than I thought when I met him husky and bearded in the Dolomites; and I should say he’s no bad chap if taken the right way. And what I was going to say to you was: Why not take him the right way?”

“You haven’t read Hubert’s diary, Uncle.”

“I should like to.”

“You probably will. It may be published.”

Adrian whistled faintly.

“Perpend, my dear. Dog-fighting is excellent for all except the dogs.”

“Hallorsen’s had his innings. It’s Hubert’s turn to bat.”

“Well, Dinny—no harm in having a look at the bowling before he goes in. Let me arrange a little dinner. Diana Ferse will have us at her house, and you can stay the night with her for it. So what about Monday?”

Dinny wrinkled her rather tip-tilted nose. If, as she intended, she went to Lippinghall next week, Monday WOULD be handy. It might, after all, be as well to see this American before declaring war on him.

“All right, Uncle, and thank you very much. If you’re going West may I come with you? I want to see Aunt Emily and Uncle Lawrence. Mount Street’s on your way home.”

“Right! When you’ve had your fill, we’ll start.”

“I’m quite full,” said Dinny, and got up.

CHAPTER 6

Her luck held, and she flushed her third Uncle contemplating his own house in Mount Street, as if he were about to make an offer for it.

“Ah! Dinny, come along; your Aunt’s moulting, and she’ll be glad to see you. I miss old Forsyte,” he added in the hall. “I was just considering what I ought to ask for this house if we let it next season. You didn’t know old Forsyte—Fleur’s father: he was a character.”

“What is the matter with Aunt Em, Uncle Lawrence?”

“Nothing, my dear. I think the sight of poor old Uncle ‘Cuffs’ has made her dwell on the future. Ever dwell on the future, Dinny? It’s a dismal period, after a certain age.”

He opened a door.

“My dear, here’s Dinny.”

Emily, Lady Mont, was standing in her panelled drawing-room flicking a feather brush over a bit of Famille Verte, with her parakeet perched on her shoulder. She lowered the brush, advanced with a far-away look in her eyes, said “Mind, Polly,” and kissed her niece. The parakeet transferred itself to Dinny’s shoulder and bent its head round enquiringly to look in her face.

“He’s such a dear,” said Lady Mont; “you won’t mind if he tweaks your ear? I’m so glad you came, Dinny; I’ve been so thinking of funerals. Do tell me your idea about the hereafter.”

“Is there one, Auntie?”

“Dinny! That’s so depressing.”

“Perhaps those who want one have it.”

“You’re like Michael. He’s so mental. Where did you pick Dinny up, Lawrence?”

“In the street.”

“That sounds improper. How is your father, Dinny? I hope he isn’t any the worse for that dreadful house at Porthminster. It did so smell of preserved mice.”

“We’re all very worried about Hubert, Aunt Em.”

“Ah! Hubert, yes. You know, I think he made a mistake to flog those men. Shootin’ them one can quite understand, but floggin’ is so physical and like the old Duke.”

“Don’t you feel inclined to flog carters when they lash overloaded horses up-hill, Auntie?”

“Yes, I do. Was that what they were doin’?”

“Practically, only worse. They used to twist the mules’ tails and stick their knives into them, and generally play hell with the poor brutes.”

“Did they? I’m so glad he flogged them; though I’ve never liked mules ever since we went up the Gemmi. Do you remember, Lawrence?”

Sir Lawrence nodded. On his face was the look, affectionate but quizzical, which Dinny always connected with Aunt Em.

“Why, Auntie?”

“They rolled on me; not they exactly, but the one I was ridin’. They tell me it’s the only time a mule has ever rolled on anybody—surefooted.”

“Dreadful taste, Auntie!”

“Yes; and most unpleasant—so internal. Do you think Hubert would like to come and shoot partridges at Lippinghall next week?’

“I don’t think you could get Hubert to go anywhere just now. He’s got a terrible hump. But if you have a cubby-hole left for me, could I come?”

“Of course. There’ll be plenty of room. Let’s see: just Charlie Muskham and his new wife, Mr. Bentworth and Hen, Michael and Fleur, and Diana Ferse, and perhaps Adrian because he doesn’t shoot, and your Aunt Wilmet. Oh! ah! And Lord Saxenden.”

“What!” cried Dinny.

“Why? Isn’t he respectable?”

“But, Auntie—that’s perfect! He’s my objective.”

“What a dreadful word; I never heard it called that before. Besides, there’s a Lady Saxenden, on her back somewhere.”

“No, no, Aunt Em. I want to get at him about Hubert. Father says he’s the nod.”

“Dinny, you and Michael use the oddest expressions. What nod?”

Sir Lawrence broke the petrified silence he usually observed in the presence of his wife.

“Dinny means, my dear, that Saxenden is a big noise behind the scenes in military matters.”

“What is he like, Uncle Lawrence?”

“Snubby? I’ve known him many years—quite a lad.”

“This is very agitatin’,” said Lady Mont, resuming the parakeet.

“Dear Auntie, I’m quite safe.”

“But is Lord—er—Snubby? I’ve always tried to keep Lippin’hall respectable. I’m very doubtful about Adrian as it is, but”—she placed the parakeet on the mantelpiece—“he’s my favourite brother. For a favourite brother one does things.”

“One does,” said Dinny.

“That’ll be all right, Em,” put in Sir Lawrence. “I’ll watch over Dinny and Diana, and you can watch over Adrian and Snubby.”