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He did seem to be in a good humour. Not that he would ever be an inane grinner, or prone to the giddiness that Serafina had seen rather too often when other young fellows had done well at the races, drunk too much wine, or danced with an acknowledged beauty. No, it was merely that his face seemed easier, perhaps even younger - and that when she smiled upon him, he smiled back with a sort of easy relief she had never known him to exhibit before. 

“Miss Tooting,” he said, but he said it with the kind delighted intimacy that made it almost Serafina to her. “I had hoped to see you here tonight, I… That is to say, it was with the hope of seeing you tonight, I made so bold as to bring the sermon you mentioned, when last we spoke.”

“That is quite a distance to carry it, sir, if you were not sure of finding her here,” said Mary.

“I…” he faltered, as he always did when teased. “Yes.”

“But then, I suppose, Serafina is so often here, and even were she not, I’m sure my father would have held it for her. Provided it is nothing improper or incendiary.” 

“Not at all, Miss Dunning, I wouldn’t dream to bring anything in your father’s house that…”

“Mary is quizzing you, Mr Thornton. Pray, pay her no mind. And, no, Mary, it is only Mr Coleridge’s exhortation to those born in privilege, intended as a guide to behaviour. That is, if I remember rightly, Mr Thornton.”

“That is… that is exactly what it is. I… I am very gratified that you remembered it. I found it a sensible and moderate answer to the more,” he paused with another smile, affectionate and kind, “outlandish views held by some of the other poets I know Miss Tooting to admire.”

“And, indeed, to Mr Coleridge’s own, earlier beliefs.”

“No doubt that you would see such a change of opinion as a betrayal of his principles, Miss Tooting.”

 “I might not couch it so strongly, sir.” 

“But you would not deny it altogether?”

She fanned herself, but made no reply.

He gave one of his little, broken laughs. “I can see how one persuaded by such ideals might see it so. To my mind, however, I would say that it represents the voice of age and experience, answering his youthful fervour with a degree of measure.”

“But surely, sir, some things do not benefit from measure.”

“You would have me believe that you are some manner of radical?”

“Not at all. I meant only… Well, might one not expect more from the heart of a poet? Surely it is to them that we should look for our ideals, however short the world might fall from them. And do you not feel that there is a… a meanness of spirit to refuse the ideal of the equality of all men? Which insists some were born to rule, and others to waste their lives in mere drudgery?”

The look he gave her was of such admiring tenderness that Serafina could almost forgive the edge of condescension in it. “For a true and gentle heart, Miss Tooting, that is the most natural feeling in the world. It is how, I believe, so feeling and intelligent a man as Mr Coleridge was led in to his errors. He saw the misery and degradation of his fellow man and wished it at an end – but…” he gave a short, uncomfortable laugh, “I fear we are being neglectful of you, Miss Dunning. Pray, forgive me.”

Serafina looked up to where Mary was hiding a wry twist of her mouth behind her fan before passing it off as a bright and guileless smile. “Pray do not stop on my account, Mr Thornton. I know I do not have the head for all this philosophical talk, but I will try not to be too much of a dullard.”

“I would not wish to bore you, Miss Dunning.”

“Not at all Mr Thornton. I understand that men of the world such as yourself must talk of things of great moment. It is not your fault that politics leaves my head so very muddled.” She smiled at him, winningly. 

Mr Thornton stared back at her, as though uncertain if he were being mocked again.

Serafina had never understood why Mary always felt it necessary to play the silly, schoolroom miss around gentlemen – she was as sensible as Serafina herself, and a sight better educated. When they were alone, or when Mary was with her father, she was as capable of intelligent discussion on the plight of the poor, or the organisation of charity as any one of them. Why, if this Coleridge sermon held any sense, Serafina would have been glad of Mary’s opinion upon it. 

“Gentlemen don’t always like it when they realise you’re cleverer than them,” Mama had once said, and Serafina had done her best to take that knowledge to heart. But surely no man of good sense wanted a foolish wife?

Certainly, Mr Thornton looked only bemused at Mary’s carrying on. He said gravely, “Still, perhaps it is better we seek another topic. One better suited to -”

“No, Mr Thornton, I beg of you. Besides, I see Mama waving at me. Pray excuse me.” And once she was behind Richard’s back, she stole a glance at Serafina, and gave her just the faintest twinkle of a smile.

That smile excused many things, not limited to embarrassing introductions, ill-behaved kittens, and coquettish nonsense. Even had it not, the mercy of leaving them alone together made up the rest. Besides which, Mr Thornton truly did seem to be in a more cheerful mood than his wont, as though some of the tension and uncertainty which had animated him on their previous meeting had relaxed within him. 

Hopeful in her heart, she asked, “Tell me, sir, is it truly only the generosity of Dr Dunning’s hospitality that has put you in such fair spirits, sir? Or do you have some cause for celebration?”

 “No. No, there is no great cause.” He seemed to reflect for a moment, “Although, perhaps I have been able to bring trifling matter to its natural conclusion.”

“A conclusion in your favour, sir?”

“I hope so, yes. But such petty affairs must hold no interest to you.”

“Every aspect of your life holds great interest for me, Mr Thornton.” 

“Miss Tooting, I - ”

“Sir, I would not speak raise a subject upon which you would wish me to be silent. Suffice it only to say that… if nothing else, you must look upon me as your most devoted, and affectionate friend.”

His pale cheeks coloured a little at that, and some of the stern, handsome lines of his face relaxed. “Do… do you mean that truly, Miss Tooting.”

“I do, sir. Even if that is all you would ever have from me.”

Was that gleam in his eyes a sheen of tears? No – no, surely she must be imagining it. 

He reached out his hand to her - to say or do what, she was not sure. And she would never learn, for at that moment, one white and one ginger paw darted upwards and caught his sleeve in needle-sharp claws. Startled, Mr Thornton recoiled, but the small creature clung steadfastly to the cuff of his jacket. 

Serafina stifled a sound in her throat, though whether it was a laugh or a sob, she did not rightly know.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir! Mary, um… that is to say…”

Richard had got his free hand about the kitten’s neck, holding it firmly by the scruff. The kitten, true to its nature, hissed in accents terrible. 

With a dreadful sense of responsibility, Serafina felt her face flush hot. 

“And who is this handsome fellow?” 

The ‘handsome fellow’ twisted, trying to sink its needle claws into Mr Thornton’s hand. 

“Mr Thornton, I must apologise. Miss Dunning…” Serafina tried to think of a version of events that did not too thoroughly incriminate her friend. “Was kind enough to show me the kittens recently born in the kitchen, and…”

“And you took a fancy to this gentleman? Now, none of that,” this last said to the kitten as it made a rude, mewling sound and made another attempt to scratch. Mr Thornton’s voice was stern, but he shifted his grip to one less injurious to the creature’s dignity. 

“Something like that,” Serafina said.

Mr Thornton absently smoothed the creature’s ruffled fur, and smiled down at her. “I would expect nothing else of your kind heart, Miss Tooting. But such beasts should not be coddled, it will hardly fit him for life as a mouser.” 

“Surely it does not hurt any creature to have a little kindness?”

“Kindness, yes, but it is kinder to treat each creature in a way that best fits him for the life he must lead. To spoil him would be a far greater cruelty - this little fellow must learn to earn his keep, or our host’s house would soon be overrun, and your pet turned out on the street.” Not without gentleness, he put the kitten down on the floor. “Go on. Be off with you.”

There was often, in Mr Thornton’s voice, when he said such things, a sort of clipped and easy authority which sat at odds with his usual gentle, measured speech, and something in her always thrilled to it.

The cat simply stared at him balefully, and hissed once again. 

Serafina resisted the urge to bend down and fuss its ears, “Thank you for rescuing me from the beast, sir, although I was not being much imposed upon. But I cannot feel that half an hour’s indulgence at such a tender age could much damage his life’s shape.”

“It is still better, I think, still to avoid the habit. If you treat him thus now, it will only injure him when next time, you must – for his own good - refuse. Better that he not ever feel the temptation of it.”

“Is that not a rather bleak philosophy, sir?”

“Not at all. The training a creature receives shapes it for life. A cat may be born a poor mouser, but one taught idleness will never learn to be good one.”

Serafina thought about this and, while she saw the sense in it could not like it much. 

“It certainly feels bleak to me, sir. Perhaps it may hold true for a rogue like that,” and she inclined her head to the kitten, who had still not obeyed the instruction to leave, but was cleaning a paw with insolent dignity. “And the life that he must follow, but surely it is not necessary for all creatures.”

“We must give things the training they need for life, Miss Tooting, both in the good and the bad. Perhaps a man must be sterner with a spaniel bred for the gun than a gentlewoman would be with her pug, but the dog is happier for it. 

“I did not know that you shot, sir.”

“It is not a pursuit of mine,” Mr Thornton looked uncomfortable for a moment. “My father kept dogs. In my youth.”

He did not speak often of his father, nor his boyhood, and she could see that the memory of the things he had lost still caused him pain. 

“I take your meaning, though, sir. But surely even a spaniel, or something of that kind, can receive the odd treat, the occasional indulgence, without spoiling its character, or ability to perform in the field?”

“Yes, naturally. The question is one of appropriate indulgence, as well as appropriate discipline. Character, too, comes into it. Some dogs train more easily than others, and some better fitted for improvement.” He looked almost melancholy at the thought. 

Serafina wondered if he were recalling to himself some childhood pet, that had been lost – to age, or whatever disaster had befallen his family. Sometimes, she cursed his reticence about it, or wished that she was on such terms with him to ask about it.

It did not matter. One day, perhaps, he would tell her the whole of it, when she would be able to offer him the comfort of a wife. For the moment, they had time together, and this gentle, intellectual back and forth between them, which was always the simplest, most comfortable thing in the world.