“What am I to say then?  How am I to call back to his recollection the fact that he committed himself, unless you will tell me how and when he did so?”

“Ask him if he did not assure me of his love when we were in the carriage together.”

“What carriage?”

“Coming home from hunting.”

“Was that at Mistletoe or Rufford?”

“At Mistletoe, mamma,” replied Arabella, stamping her foot.

“But you must let me know how it was that you became engaged to him at Rufford.”

“Mamma, you mean to drive me mad,” exclaimed Arabella as she bounced out of the room.

There was very much more of this, till at last Arabella found herself compelled to invent facts.  Lord Rufford, she said, had assured her of his ever lasting affection in the little room at Rufford, and had absolutely asked her to be his wife coming home in the carriage with her to Stamford.  She told herself that though this was not strictly true, it was as good as true,—­as that which was actually done and said by Lord Rufford on those occasions could have had no other meaning.  But before her mother had completed her investigation, Arabella had become so sick of the matter that she shut herself up in her room and declared that nothing on earth should induce her to open her mouth on the subject again.

When Lord Rufford received the letter he was aghast with new disgust.  He had begun to flatter himself that his interview with Lord Augustus would be the end of the affair.  Looking at it by degrees with coolness he had allowed himself to think that nothing very terrible could be done to him.  Some few people, particularly interested in the Mistletoe family, might give him a cold shoulder, or perhaps cut him directly; but such people would not belong to his own peculiar circle, and the annoyance would not be great.  But if all the family, one after another, were to demand interviews with him up in London, he did not see when the end of it would be.  There would be the Duke himself, and the Duchess, and Mistletoe.  And the affair would in this way become gossip for the whole town.  He was almost minded to write to the Duke saying that such an interview could do no good; but at last he thought it best to submit the matter to his mentor, Sir George Penwether.  Sir George was clearly of opinion that it was Lord Rufford’s duty to see Lady Augustus.  “Yes, you must have interviews with all of them, if they ask it,” said Sir George.  “You must show that you are not afraid to hear what her friends have got to say.  When a man gets wrong he can’t put himself right without some little annoyance.”

“Since the world began,” said Lord Rufford, “I don’t think that there was ever a man born so well adapted for preaching sermons as you are.”  Nevertheless he did as he was bid, and consented to meet Lady Augustus in Piccadilly on the day named by her.  On that very day the hounds met at Impington and Lord Rufford began to feel his punishment.  He assented to the proposal made and went up to London, leaving the members of the U.R.U. to have the run of the season from the Impington coverts.