A Damsel in Distress | Page 3

went on Lady Caroline, "the dear boy is
proposing to her."
Lord Marshmoreton grunted, and continued to peer with a questioning
eye in the awesome brew which he had prepared for the thrips.
"One thing is very satisfactory," said Lady Caroline. "I mean that Maud
seems entirely to have got over that ridiculous infatuation of hers for
that man she met in Wales last summer. She could not be so cheerful if
she were still brooding on that. I hope you will admit now, John, that I
was right in keeping her practically a prisoner here and never allowing
her a chance of meeting the man again either by accident or design.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Stuff! A girl of Maud's
age falls in and out of love half a dozen times a year. I feel sure she has
almost forgotten the man by now."
"Eh?" said Lord Marshmoreton. His mind had been far away, dealing
with green flies.
"I was speaking about that man Maud met when she was staying with
Brenda in Wales."
"Oh, yes!"
"Oh, yes!" echoed Lady Caroline annoyed. "Is that the only comment
you can find to make? Your only daughter becomes infatuated with a
perfect stranger--a man we have never seen--of whom we know
nothing, not even his name--nothing except that he is an American and
hasn't a penny--Maud admitted that. And all you say is 'Oh, yes'!"
"But it's all over now, isn't it? I understood the dashed affair was all
over."
"We hope so. But I should feel safer if Maud were engaged to Reggie. I

do think you might take the trouble to speak to Maud."
"Speak to her? I do speak to her." Lord Marshmoreton's brain moved
slowly when he was pre-occupied with his roses. "We're on excellent
terms."
Lady Caroline frowned impatiently. Hers was an alert, vigorous mind,
bright and strong like a steel trap, and her brother's vagueness and
growing habit of inattention irritated her.
"I mean to speak to her about becoming engaged to Reggie. You are
her father. Surely you can at least try to persuade her."
"Can't coerce a girl."
"I never suggested that you should coerce her, as you put it. I merely
meant that you could point out to her, as a father, where her duty and
happiness lie."
"Drink this!" cried his lordship with sudden fury, spraying his can over
the nearest bush, and addressing his remark to the invisible thrips. He
had forgotten Lady Caroline completely. "Don't stint yourselves!
There's lots more!"
A girl came down the steps of the castle and made her way towards
them. She was a good-looking girl, with an air of quiet efficiency about
her. Her eyes were grey and whimsical. Her head was uncovered, and
the breeze stirred her dark hair. She made a graceful picture in the
morning sunshine, and Reggie Byng, sighting her from the terrace,
wobbled in his tracks, turned pink, and lost the thread of his remarks.
The sudden appearance of Alice Faraday always affected him like that.
"I have copied out the notes you made last night, Lord Marshmoreton. I
typed two copies."
Alice Faraday spoke in a quiet, respectful, yet subtly authoritative voice.
She was a girl of great character. Previous employers of her services as

secretary had found her a jewel. To Lord Marshmoreton she was
rapidly becoming a perfect incubus. Their views on the relative
importance of gardening and family histories did not coincide. To him
the history of the Marshmoreton family was the occupation of the idle
hour: she seemed to think that he ought to regard it as a life-work. She
was always coming and digging him out of the garden and dragging
him back to what should have been a purely after-dinner task. It was
Lord Marshmoreton's habit, when he awoke after one of his naps too
late to resume work, to throw out some vague promise of "attending to
it tomorrow"; but, he reflected bitterly, the girl ought to have tact and
sense to understand that this was only polite persiflage, and not to be
taken literally.
"They are very rough," continued Alice, addressing her conversation to
the seat of his lordship's corduroy trousers. Lord Marshmoreton always
assumed a stooping attitude when he saw Miss Faraday approaching
with papers in her hand; for he laboured under a pathetic delusion, of
which no amount of failures could rid him, that if she did not see his
face she would withdraw. "You remember last night you promised you
would attend to them this morning." She paused long enough to receive
a non-committal grunt by way of answer. "Of course, if you're busy--"
she said placidly, with a half-glance at Lady Caroline. That masterful
woman could always be counted on as an ally in