Lady Jane, indeed, would have been both angry and disappointed had the case turned out otherwise; for her nephew was not poor and did not stand in need of any _mésalliance_, whereas she had planned the whole affair for Charlie Somers’ benefit and no other. And, indeed, the plan worked very well. Sir Charles had no objection at all to the _rôle_ assigned him. Stella did not require to be approached with any show of deference or devotion; she was quite willing to be treated as a chum, to respond to a call more curt than reverential. “I say, come on and see the horses.” “Look here, Miss Tredgold, let’s have a stroll before lunch.” “Come along and look at the puppies.” These were the kind of invitations addressed to her; and Stella came along tripping, buttoning up her jacket, putting on a cap, the first she could find, upon her fluffy hair. She was _bon camarade_, and did not “go in for sentiment.” It was she who was the first to call him Charlie, as she had been on the eve of doing several times in the Lottie Seton days, which now looked like the age before the Flood to this pair.
“Fancy only knowing you through that woman,” cried Stella; “and you should have heard how she bullied me after that night of the sail!”
“Jealous,” said Sir Charles in his moustache. “Never likes to lose any fellow she knows.”
“But she was not losing you!” cried Stella with much innocence. “What harm could it do to her that you spent one evening with--anyone else?”
“Knows better than that, does Lottie,” the laconic lover said.
“Oh, stuff!” cried Stella. “It was only to make herself disagreeable. But she never was any friend of mine.”
“Not likely. Lottie knows a thing or two. Not so soft as all that. Put you in prison if she could--push you out of her way.”
“But I was never in her way,” cried Stella.
At which Sir Charles laughed loud and long. “Tell you what it is--as bad as Lottie. Can’t have you talk to fellows like Uppin’ton. Great prig, not your sort at all. Call myself your sort, Stella, eh? Since anyhow you’re mine.”
“I don’t know what you mean by your sort,” Stella said, but with downcast eyes.
“Yes, you do--chums--always get on. Awf’lly fond of you, don’t you know? Eh? Marriage awf’l bore, but can’t be helped. Look here! Off to India if you won’t have me,” the wooer said.