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rapturous expression for a second. In the next moment, however, her face fell again. “Oh, I can think of nothing. Beatrice, do you have something?”
    To everyone’s surprise, not least of all Mrs. Royleforst, her companion, Miss Bluford spoke up. “I—I think I can, if I may be allowed—”
    â€œBut of course, Miss Bluford!” cried her mistress, quite surprised.
    The lady’s lips came together in concentration, and she lifted her chin. The other occupants in the room were almost craning their necks, waiting, except for Phillip, who had crossed his arms and merely sat, watching her with not the least surprise or curiosity on his face.
    â€œHow—how do you like—” and here she paused again.
    â€œOut with it, my dear!” said her mistress.
    Miss Bluford swallowed. “How do you like this? Mr.
Frogglethorpe
.” All the females in the room chuckled in surprise that sober Miss Bluford would produce such a name.
    â€œVery amusing, Miss Bluford!” gasped Mrs. Royleforst approvingly. With this encouragement, Miss Bluford gave a little wobbly smile and added, “Let us say, then, Mr. Frederick Frogglethorpe!” Her skinny shoulders shook as she quietly enjoyed her own mirth and gave little peeks at the others about her (except for Mr. Mornay. She was still wary of him.). She loved that she had amused everyone.
    â€œI daresay Frederick shan’t like it,” replied the lady of the house, thinking of their butler, Mr. Frederick, whom her husband called “Freddy.”
    Little Nigel burst into the room at that moment, leaving the door ajar.
    â€œMama! Papa! Nigel is back!”
    â€œCome to Auntie Royleforst,” said the large older woman, immediately. Mrs. Forsythe had been just about to offer her own arms to the child, and frowned, but she said nothing.
    Beatrice repeated, “Frederick Frogglethorpe. I believe it has a very proper ring to it—almost.” And she laughed. “Ah, yes, ‘Mr. Frederick Frogglethorpeat your service, ma’am,’” and Miss Bluford tittered the most of anyone. Ariana was smiling, enjoying that her sister found the little exercise diverting. Beatrice added, “I think he will bow timidly, with overarching propriety, and will offer you a great deal of flummery.” They all chuckled, and Miss Bluford, nodding fervently, agreed, “Yes, flummery—indeed, indeed! The richest sort! The smoothest going down! Quite the vicar!”
    Mrs. Royleforst continued to feel amazed and amused at how Miss Bluford was coming out of her shell of silence, but she was too busy allowing Nigel the pleasure of crawling all over her large person to say anything of it.
    The clock ticked, and they all continued to wait.

Four

    M r. O’Brien, having accepted that his fate was to appear before his old nemesis, the Paragon, did what he could to ready himself. He knew the “interview” would be a hopeless affair, but he was properly resigned to this. The Colonel’s honour was at stake; his own honour demanded his acquiescence, and so he set himself to making his appearance in the best manner possible.
    He went first to his mother and suffered the humiliation of enlisting her support in the form of funds. She was reluctant to help him in the scheme, feeling there was a preponderance of certain doom attached to the venture. But sons have their way of finagling help from their mothers, and soon Mr. O’Brien was in possession of enough money to call upon his tailor.
    He had his overcoat relined and cleaned; he did the same for his boots and shoes, getting new heels and paying extra for the very best polish. He even bought a new waistcoat, and would have ventured a shirt as well, but needed enough money for the post chaise to get to Middlesex. He made very sure to keep enough for the return journey, as that, he knew, would not be far behind his arrival. During a routine hair trim, the barber