Poetry and Perfection 4

 

Chapter 4

 

Kitty found herself at an evening of games for young people which did actually include a few younger siblings. Parlour games like ‘steal the white loaf,’ ‘Move-all,’ and ‘Musical Magic’ broke the ice very well, and Hugo deliberately sat out of ‘Move-all,’ not wanting the older young ladies to try to collide with him supposedly by accident, on romantic encounter bent.

It was when the hostess, one Mrs. Weston, mother of Jenny, declared that they should play charades, there was a babble of dismay.

“Oh, Mama! I can’t write charades, and nor can most of my friends!” declared Jenny. “And I can’t guess them, either.”

“Mrs. Weston, if you have a game that will take half an hour, I am sure I can write a dozen or so charades, and if people find them hard, why, I believe there is a new fashion to act the parts of the word, which could be done as well as giving the poem,” said Kitty.

“Bravo, Miss Worthington; I will lend you my aid. I’m too old for this gathering, but I’m here for Elvira,” said Hugo Bottringham.

“Oh, Miss Worthington, Mr. Bottringham, if you will do so, I will be so grateful,” said Mrs. Weston. “Come, everyone, we will play ‘Turn the trencher,’ and anyone coming up with improper forfeits will stand in the corner of the room whilst the rest play.”

 “What does she mean?” asked Kitty.

“Some young men can be rather forward, and ask for kisses as forfeits,” said Hugo. “And it spoils it for everyone, though the very shy have trouble with things like ‘cry in one corner, laugh in another, sing in the third, and dance in the fourth.’”

“Yes, I cannot say that I would enjoy it,” said Kitty. “Being on display is not pleasant.”

“I’ll remember that you don’t like it,” said Hugo. “Why don’t we each write half a dozen charades, and then see how we do with each other’s thoughts?”

“I think that will be fun,” said Kitty. “More so than having long drawn out guessing from people who don’t understand half the time.”

“Oh, dear, you feel that way too? Well, we might be the only two to enjoy this game.”

They sat down, writing assiduously.

“Ready to share a couple?” asked Hugo.

“I think so,” said Kitty. “Shall I go first?”

“Please.”

“My first is a stick like a perch or a rod

My second a big plant furnished by God;

My whole may be found insignificant yet,

With changed spelling, they run scratching for what they may get.”

“The first is obviously pole, as in a rod, pole, or perch measurement,” said Hugo. “A really big plant is a tree… oh! A pun, paltry, insignificant, and poultry, chickens.”

“Your turn,” said Kitty.

“My first, a simple ewer, such as comes with matching basin

My second is a clearing throat which speaks of hesitation,

My third is but a nothing, the sign of zero is its part

And my whole a Hindu god on an inexorable cart”

Kitty frowned.

“A jug… the sound ‘er,’ I think, and… well, it’s an ‘o’ sort of… nought? But I can’t make sense of that.”

“Yet you have it perfectly; Juggernaut.”

“There is such a word? I do not know it.”

“It’s the word used for the big carts used in procession in India, which, once moving, are very difficult to stop,” said Hugo. “Oh, dear, is it too hard?”

“Well, the clues are not,” said Kitty. “But it’s nice to learn new words.”

“Oh, I agree,” said Hugo. “Mrs. Weston can always discard it. Next?”

“My first is an untruth, to hide the truths that my whole spawns;

My second, a wild rose, deprived of ego, not its thorns.

My last may be a first as a prefix to repeat,

And my whole is full of knowledge of some stories as a treat.”

“Lie,” said Hugo. “And then you have me… a wild rose is a briar. Without ego? Oh! Without the ‘I’. And prefix… re- but as a suffix. Lie-brar-re, Library.”

“You are good,” said Kitty, admiringly. “Your next?”

“Short and a little trite,” said Hugo.

“My first, to grab, to hold by force, or conquer, like my whole

My second a woman with dropped head, perhaps a slave in role

Render unto my whole what may to him belong

And render me an answer of the ancient subject of my song.”

“Now that was a clue in the ‘render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s; it’s Caesar. Seize and her without the h,” said Kitty.

“I did say it was trite. Your turn.”

“My first might go upon a neck, which would be seen as risible

Since where my whole is to be found is somewhere more invisible

My second is a gerund, an end for present doing

And my whole is a fine garment for a lady with a shoe in.”

“My goodness!” said Hugo. “A man could have far too much fun with that with forays into metaphysical poetry with regard to a lady’s stocking. Stock, of course, from the stock at one’s neck, and -ing, but nicely put together.”

“Miss Emmet would not tell me about metaphysical poetry; she said it is smutty. Well, not in as many words, but that was the impression she gave. Why were the Greeks dreadful?”

“Oh, dear,” said Hugo. “It’s not my place to speak of such things.  Perhaps your brother might, or your father, or, when you marry, your husband.”

Kitty sighed.

“Stephen won’t. I doubt Papa will. So, I shall have to wait until I am old to find out.”

“I’m afraid so. And my next one,” he said, moving firmly on.

“My first a simple pan to cook food to some heat

My second the past tense of what is done with what’s to eat

These two in combination an accompanying drink

Before my third which makes the whole quite different, I think.

My third it is a sound of surprise, perhaps delight at something filling

Which is my whole, and I believe devoured by all quite willing.”

“Pan… Pot?” asked Kitty. “Oh! I have it, Potato; Pot-ate, which makes ‘Potate’ or to drink; and ‘o’ as the sound of surprise.”

Kitty giggled her way through a few more simple and commonplace sorts of two syllable words,  and Hugo gave the odd chuckle; a tacit agreement to make some easy ones, and turned them over to Mrs. Weston.

“Goodness me, such erudition!” she cried. “I am not sure… well, perhaps if I put the young people in fours they can manage some of them. You are too clever for me!”

“I did not know ‘Juggernaut,’ until Mr. Bottringham explained it,” said Kitty. “At least he does not write them in Latin.”

“Latin! I should think not!” cried Mrs. Weston.

“Do you think Stephen would enjoy it?” asked Hugo.

“No, but it would do him good to have to work before going back to university,” said Kitty, heartlessly.

She listened to the attempts made to solve their simpler charades, only Elvira and Stephen doing at all well.

“I was right that your brother and I had more fun writing the charades than anyone had in solving them,” she said to Elvira, as they walked home together, Stephen and Hugo following as guards, since Elvira preferred to walk to any entertainment if at all possible, and Kitty was happy to indulge her.

“Oh, that does not surprise me,” said Elvira. “Kitty, would you come to tea with me?”

“Oh, that will be nice, without all the background of people seething around,” said Kitty. “Unless it’s a big tea party?”

“No, just you, and… and I want you to meet my sister.”

“I had no idea you had a sister,” said Kitty.

Elvira winced.

“Most people don’t,” she said. “You know my parents were killed in a coaching accident a few years ago?”

“I knew they had died suddenly,” said Kitty.

“Well, it was in a coaching accident, and it’s why I am terrified of going in coaches, and prefer to ride or go in a small open vehicle,” said Elvira. “We were trapped in the coach, in a river, and Papa and Mama were killed trying to cushion Sophie and me. And Sophie broke her back, I kept her afloat, but that and being heaved out unceremoniously by the people who rescued us meant she is paralysed, and she almost died of pneumonia as well.”

“Oh! How sad!” said Kitty. “Does she have many girl friends?”

“None,” said Elvira. “She is afraid of society, but I have persuaded her that you will not be unkind to her or taunt her or anything.”

“Goodness, why would anyone do anything like that?” asked Kitty, perplexed.

“Emma Evrington, Caroline Spenlove, Elizabeth Braithewaite, Susanna Akenfield,” said Elvira, dryly, naming three other young maidens on the town, who were often at such occasions to which Kitty had been recently invited. “You know how they giggle at you, and call you ‘the country cousin,’ though Hugo has put a stop to that since the Spenlove girl was so nasty.”

“I take no notice of them. They make me think of chickens, terribly silly creatures and inclined to peck anyone they think is different. Oh, yes, I see. They are idiots and I hope they get the husbands they deserve.”

“Well, there you have it, and Sophie is hoping to make a real friend. But if you don’t want to, then I’d rather let her down now.”

“Oh, I’d love to be her friend,” said Kitty. “And, I say, Elvira, I could keep her company while you are out dancing!”

“Oh, you are such a good friend!” cried Elvira. “That’s more than I might have hoped, or asked. But she does get so bored, and Hugo will not let me cry off the season, because he says I should have the opportunity to marry.”

“Well, when I don’t ‘take’ next year, as I expect I shan’t, he can employ me after you get married, to be Sophie’s companion,” said Kitty, cheerfully.

Elvira embraced her.

“How sweet you are!” she said. “Of course you will ‘take;’ it is only that people have no idea that you are not Hugo’s pensioner that they do not already ask you to dance and so on. Being red, they assume we must be distant relatives, but you don’t seem to mind being ignored.”

“It suits me very well, actually,” said Kitty. “I’ve been dreading coming out, but I can listen to gossip and know who everyone is, so next year I won’t feel I am cast upon a sea of troubles without a boat, so to speak.”

“Hamlet, but mangled,” said Elvira.

“Yes, but anyone in their right mind would want to mangle Hamlet,” said Kitty. “He’s unkind to poor Ophelia, and Miss Emmet gets flustered when reading the bits where he taunts her, which means it’s something very robustly Elizabethan and played for cheap laughs, but she won’t explain it at all, and he goes on and on about his woes, until one wants to chop off one of his legs and beat him over the head with it. Anyone else in those days would just pay someone to kill his uncle.”

“I think he wanted his mother to have her eyes opened,” said Elvira.  “But this is just the sort of conversation Sophie would love, too.”

“Oh, good!” said Kitty. “I expect, once he was dead, his perfidy would emerge because there’d be paperwork and a money trail showing what he’d been up to.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Elvira.

“Well, it’s why your brother snubs Lord Haselbraid,” said Kitty.

“It is?  Hugo refuses to discuss him with me, but he actually interrupted a dance I was dancing with Lord Haselbraid, and dragged me home early.  Anyone would think I had been encouraging him, instead of which, it was the first dance and I was late and everyone else was engaged to dance.  I was late because Sophie had needed help… she knows when she needs to… to relieve herself but has to excuse herself for her maid to help her,” she added.  “It’s another reason she doesn’t want to be in society. Polly is a good woman, but brusque, and it’s embarrassing for Sophie cannot… hold things.”

“Oh, that would be hard,” said Kitty. “I shall not, of course, regard it in the least.”

“I am glad,” said Elvira. “Go on, tell me what you found out about Lord Haselbraid!”

“Oh, he’s a gazetted fortune hunter,” said Kitty.  “I managed to overhear how your brother foiled an attempt to abduct an heiress, and fought him with pugilism, which is why Haselbraid’s nose is crooked. He’s supposed to be an accomplished seducer, though goodness knows why, he’s the wrong side of forty, and what young girl would look twice at him?  I’ve no idea why he is described as ‘charming.’ I’ve met more attractive maggots when baiting a line for Stephen.”

Both girls giggled over that.

“Did you draw that idea?” asked Elvira.

“No, but come to my room now we are at our house, and I’ll get out my commonplace book and draw it, with your brother on the line,” said Kitty. “It’s still fairly early, and Stephan and your brother can drink brandy and have a hand or two of cards or play chess.” This plan being approved by both young men,  Elvira accompanied her, and sniggered as Kitty surely and swiftly produced a maggot with Haselbraid’s features, being leaped at by a rather foolish looking salmon in a ballgown, as Hugo Buttringham on the shore, but easily recognisable, made the cast.

“Sophie would love your commonplace book,” said Elvira. “At least, if that’s a fair sample of what goes in there.”

“Oh, it is,” said Kitty. “And some of my little verses. I guard it jealously, it could damn me in the eyes of society forevermore if anyone saw it.”

“Your secret is safe,” said Elvira. “Hugo would love it too, and I am sure he’d be discreet.”

Kitty flushed.

“There are a few of him,” she said.  “Much like this one, because his profile is such fun to draw in his forbidding mien. He saw this one of him as a thistle, and was amused.”

“And his mien scares people a lot, but he isn’t really scary,” said Elvira.

“No; but he’s had to be father and mother as well as brother to two younger sisters for several years, knowing that Sophie will never be likely to marry, and that he is going to be taking care of her all her life,” said Kitty.  “I doubt most of the women who make sheeps’ eyes at him would be willing to be her friend and sister and take care of her.”

“No,” said Elvira. “He told one of the women he thought he had a tendre for about Sophie, and the woman suggested having her put in an institution, or farmed out with people ready to care for her. He broke up with her, and that’s why he’s now cynical and goes out of his way to hurt the women who make determined plays for him.”

“I don’t blame him,” said Kitty. She scribbled under her picture.

“Oh, sweet Miss Salmon,  if you could but swallow

The unctuous praise of you which is but hollow,

My love for you is for the golden gleam’s amount

Which shows how much is in your bank account.”

“You did write your brother’s poetry,” said Elvira, severely.

“But the sentiments were his,” said Kitty. “And I but went along with them.”

“Oh, I acquit him then,” said Elvira. “He is a pleasant companion, and has conversation, which is more than most of them have.”

They exchanged looks, and laughed at the more tongue-tied of Elvira’s suitors.

 

poetry and perfection 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Kitty was a little embarrassed to have to be woken gently by her mother.  She stumbled out of the Bottringham house, and was hardly aware of the short journey home. She fell into bed and was asleep again as soon as her head touched the pillow.  She dreamed all night of dancing with Hugo Bottringham.

 

Kitty was happy to go back to her lessons with Miss Emmet the next day.

“Miss Emmet,” said Kitty, “What is metaphysical poetry? I don’t think I have come across it.”

“My goodness, Kitty!” said Miss Emmet. “You don’t want to know about that!”

“Whyever not, Miss Emmet? You know I like poetry and find it interesting,” said Kitty. “And I had never heard of metaphysical poetry. What does ‘metaphysical’ even mean? Meta is Greek for ‘beyond,’ which I remember Stephen telling me, and physical means to do with material matters.”

“Dear me, I am not sure Stephen should be teaching you anything about Greek or the Greeks; they were not very nice people,” said Miss Emmet, primming her mouth.

“If they weren’t very nice, why do we use a lot of their words, and have Greek tops to columns?” asked Kitty.

“Such things are for men, not ladies,” said Miss Emmet.

“Nonsense, Miss Emmet; did I not dress as ‘Diana the Huntress,’ with a bow and a crescent moon headdress for the costume party we had before we came to London? And there are books of attitudes based on the Greek goddesses and heroines, like ‘Helen, waiting in quiet contemplation for Menelaus,’ which you said I would do well to study instead of running downstairs like a hoyden. Or ‘Penelope, sat in perfect patience at her work,’ and ‘Andromeda bound to the rock in submission and resignation.’ You can’t have it both ways.”

“Oh, how you do take me up on things!” cried poor Miss Emmet.

“Well, it’s only because you contradict yourself,” said Kitty. “Now, what is metaphysical poetry?” she brought out her original question with determination; speaking with Miss Emmet was likely to drag one down convoluted and yet woolly lines of conversation and lead away from the original point.

“Not at all what a nice young lady should know about,” she said, severely. “Wherever did you hear of such nasty stuff?”

“Oh, one of the men at Elvira’s ball was talking about it,” said Kitty, evasively.

“Steer clear of young men who use such analogy of exploration to discuss… goodness me, not suitable at all!” said Miss Emmet, firmly.

Kitty decided not to press the matter, nor, for some reason,  did she mention that it was Beau Buttringham who was the man she knew was interested.

She sighed.

“But how am I going to know things if I don’t ask?” she said, plaintively.

“Curiousity killed the cat,” said Miss Emmet. “Metaphysical poetry! Why, you might as well tie your garter in public!”

“I’ve sometimes wondered about that, too,” said Kitty. “If your garter comes loose in public, what is one supposed to do? Walk along trying not to trip over your stocking as it drags behind you? Surely you would risk falling, and displaying more?”

“Goodness, girl, the questions you ask!  Your maid will kneel down and fasten it for you, of course,” said Miss Emmet.

“But if I’m going to the library, I have a footman to follow me, not a maid. Surely I would not have a footman tie it?”

“My dear Kitty! What an idea! You would have to knock on someone’s door, or go into a shop, and ask for some place to be private to sort it out.”

“Has your garter ever come untied in public?” asked Kitty.

“Certainly not! I am not slapdash about tying mine,” said Miss Emmet. “Now, let us do some arithmetic and you can forget those nasty Elizabethan and Stuart poets.”

 

 

Kitty knew when a question was not going to be answered, though she had gleaned something from her governess. The poems were by Elizabethan and Stuart poets, and Miss Emmet found them shocking. This did not help, much, however, as Miss Emmet was easily shocked, and got upset about things when asked about them even though they seemed innocuous. The sermon on Onon spilling his seed for example, when she asked why he didn’t just brush it into a dustpan and put in a sieve to get rid of the dust from the ground so he could then go and plant it properly. Miss Emmet had almost had apoplexy about that,

She sought out her brother.

“Stephen, what can you tell me about metaphysical poetry?” she asked.

To her amazement, he blushed.

“Kitty! I can’t tell a girl about metaphysical poetry!” he expostulated.

“Oh, I shall just have to read some, and quote them,” said Kitty.

“That’s blackmail!”

“Of course it is; the best way to find out. I wager I say ‘oh, is that all,’ when you explain it.”

“Well, you won’t.  It’s about allegory.  If… if a poem talks about kissing your lips, it… it refers to the other lips.”

“What other lips?” asked Kitty.

“Lud, Kitty! Haven’t you ever looked in a hand mirror to find out what private parts you have?” asked Stephen, going a violent scarlet. “I said it wasn’t suitable for a girl!  And there are things that refer to the… the physical pleasures in terms of exploration and so on, and it’s not suitable! Go and read Donne, but for pity’s sake don’t go quoting, Papa will lock you in a tower until you’re forty!”

“Oh!” said Kitty. “You could have just said it was smutty, but concealed.”

“Well, it is, and don’t get caught reading it if you can’t resist checking it out,” said Stephen.

 

Kitty did not really have time to get bored enough to struggle with seventeenth century poetry, never accessible to a thoroughly modern girl even when not couched in allegory, as she was getting more and more invitations to small gathering where she might be expected to meet with Elvira.

“I don’t know about all this,” sighed her mother. “I don’t want to limit your pleasure, but Papa and I thought you would enjoy a season better in another year, when you are older, and might feel ready to seek a beau. But you have shown no inclination towards seeking out members of the opposite sex.”

“Oh, I’m not ready to think of marriage, yet,” said Kitty. “And it would be profligate to put you and Papa to the cost of a Season under false pretences, as it were. I just like Elvira, and she likes having me around for support, and to giggle about her swains with her.”

“Very well; on the understanding that you will not be outfitted specifically for a season, and to go to such entertainments just to be with your friend, I will not turn down any invitations.”

Kitty was quite happy with this arrangement, though she had no idea that many people who knew the Buttringhams assumed that the red-haired girl was some kind of poor relation, a companion to Elvira, and with the falsity of manners of Society, promptly ignored her.

Kitty did not care. She enjoyed watching society from the sidelines, writing little verses about some of those who amused her, and illustrating them with caricatures in her commonplace book. She had a page on which she had made a realistic portrait of Elvira, in case anyone wanted to look at what she was doing. She kept one finger in that page, to flick it over if any curious person came to peer. She also made some sketches of wildflowers when she found herself at a fête champêtre which led to a page of imagining the other guests as wildflowers.

Hugo Bottringham took the book from her before she could turn the page to something innocuous. Kitty gave a little cry of irritation.

“Now, that, sir, was monstrously rude!” she said.

“Monstrously,” said Hugo. “Oh, very nice. I am a thistle, unbending and with barbs, the Brutus cut becoming the flowers of it; and your brother, knapweed, a plant that apes the thistle but is quite harmless.”

“Oh, you understand,” said Kitty. “I am glad.”

“Oh, totally… Miss Evrington as bindweed; yes, very suitable, she clings inexorably. What, are you seriously depicting yourself as a nettle?”

“Who’s producing the biting satires?” said Kitty.

“Well, I suppose so… but I think you are a sweet marigold, with bright petals.”

“If I were a garden flower, I fear I would be a chrysanthemum; bright but rather untidy,” said Kitty.

He laughed. He had not missed that she had depicted his sister as a wild rose.

“I’m glad Elvira has a truly nice girl as a friend,” he said, seriously. “So many of the girls in society are selfish pieces, like Emma Evrington.  I did notice Caroline Spenlove as cleavers as well. I always check when I leave a gathering where she is for burrs on my coat.”

Kitty chuckled.

“And I am sure you are careful what you say, lest it be interpreted as a proposal,” she said.

At this point, the very girl they were speaking about came over.

“Oh, Mr. Bottringham, won’t you join us in a treasure hunt?” she said, coyly. “Of course, it’s sweet of you to try to make your family dependent feel less unwelcome, but she’s going to have to learn her place at some point.”

“Not cleavers, but nightshade,” said Hugo, with a glance at Kitty.

“I beg your pardon?” said Miss Spenlove.

“I don’t think I can grant it,” said Hugo. She frowned, perplexed.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I think it fairly unforgiveable for a young lady to so insult my sister’s friend,” said Hugo. “And to imply that she is unwelcome.

Kitty’s heart warmed. How kind he was to speak a rebuke to that nasty, sly girl.

Miss Spenlove looked even more confused.

“But isn’t she some poor relation of yours, who is going to need to become a governess?” she said.

“Whatever gave you that stupid idea?” said Hugo. “Miss Worthington is a friend of my sister whose parents do not intend to bring her out for another year. I will, however, pass the word to them that you will not be looking for any invitations from friends of mine, as you are so disparaging of their daughter. My goodness! Perhaps your own parents should have held you back a year as well, since you are so gauche.”

This penetrated Miss Spenlove’s brain, and emblazoned her cheeks with unbecoming red.

“But it was an easy mistake to make,” she said.

“Perhaps you should have asked,” said Hugo. “Excuse me; I see one of my friends, Mr. Worthington, Miss Worthington’s brother. I will pass on to him too your lack of interest in his family. Good day.”

Stephen was popular at social gatherings, there might be those who disparaged such red hair, but he was a graceful and able dancer, was considered a safe driver to drive out a girl to a picnic or other out-of-door entertainment, or into the countryside for a treat. He also had a fund of good stories. Without being necessarily considered an eligible parti to marry, he was much sought after by matchmaking-mothers as a a safe young man with whom to entrust her precious offspring.

Miss Spenlove slumped. She was likely to get a severe scolding from her mother for alienating other members of ton.

What was worse, Beau Bottringham had been sharp with her over a little nobody. Why, he might not dance with her tomorrow!

Miss Spenlove was about to discover that Beau Bottringham’s influence was sufficient that, with a dropped word, invitations to her fell away to no more than one a week, and none of them influential people. Suddenly, she was the little nobody.

This did not make her feel any more charitable towards Kitty. This, Kitty did not know, and just glowed to have someone stand up for her.

Kitty did notice that Miss Spenlove was at fewer functions, but did not think to question this; indeed, she put the girl’s absence down to suffering with her flux, which would also explain why she had been unpleasant to Kitty at the fête champêtre. She was thus unprepared for meeting Miss Spenlove at a musicale, and to have that young lady pinch her hard.

“What was that for?” demanded Kitty.

“You know very well!” hissed Miss Spenlove.

“No, I do not!” said Kitty. “And I demand that you tell me why you gave me such a mean pinch or I’ll plant you a facer!”

This sporting term caused a number of male heads to turn, including Stephen’s.

“Kit! You can’t say that!” said Stephen.

“Why not? You do,” said Kitty.

Stephen groaned.

“Ladies are not supposed to use sporting cant,” he said.

“Is it sporting cant? And how am I supposed to know? And how am I supposed to know what not to say when you say it?” demanded Kitty, indignantly.

This, fortunately, made all the gentlemen laugh.

“Yes, it’s my fault, I admit it,” said Stephen. “But you can’t go around punching other girls either.”

“Why not? She attacked me first,” said Kitty, rolling up her puff sleeve to show a nasty bruise already developing.

“That’s mean,” said Stephen, “But you still can’t go around darkening people’s daylights. Er… that’s cant too, and you mustn’t repeat it.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do if someone pinches me for no reason?” demanded Kitty.

“You ask your mother to sort it out,” said her mother, who had escaped the other chaperones to see why her daughter was at the centre of an imbroglio. “Miss… Spenlove, wasn’t it? Why did you pinch Kitty?”

“Ask her; she knows,” said Miss Spenlove, sulkily.

“But I don’t!” said Kitty.

“Of course you do!” cried Miss Spenlove. “You made Beau Bottringham blackball me because I told the truth about you being his poor relation and taken places on sufferance! What have you got on him, you harpy?”

“Miss Spenlove, my daughter is no relation at all of Mr. Bottringham, let alone a poor one,” said Mrs. Worthington, icily. “I decided that she might go to selected occasions with her friend, Miss Bottringham, on the understanding that it was like a younger sister, who attended without fully taking part. But it seems, perhaps, that it is not my daughter who is too young for a season, but you,  if you decide to make up lies about her for no reason. Kitty is not blameless today, in threatening retaliation, but I do wonder what made you tell lies.”

“No reason at all,” said Hugo, coming over. “Unless you count me sitting down beside Miss Worthington and giving her attention, rather than Miss Spendthrift.”

“Spenlove!” said Miss Spenlove.

“Whichever,” said Hugo, with a studied yawn.

Miss Spenlove fled, sobbing.

That had been her social death knell.