Devil’s Cub

Leonie released Miss Challoner and stood up. “Yes, it is quite famous, as you say, Juliana, for now I am to have a daughter, which will amuse me very much, and Dominique is to make no more scandals. Where is M. Comyn? Do not tell me you have quarrelled again?”

“Good gracious, no!” replied Juliana, shocked. “Uncle Rupert met us in the hall, and he took Frederick off with him to that room over the way. I think they are all there. I am certain I saw Vidal.”

“Voyons, it is insupportable!” said her grace. “Do they all go off to drink Rupert’s wine? I won’t have it!” She went quickly out into the hall with Miss Challoner, who followed in the direction of her accusingly levelled finger, and frankly laughed. Through the archway that gave on to the coffee-room the outraged Duchess could see her son, seated on the edge of a table with one foot swinging, and a glass in his hand. Lord Rupert was in the background, holding a bottle, and speaking to somebody outside Leonie’s range of vision. A burst of laughter set the seal to her grace’s wrath She promptly walked into the coffee-room, saw that not only Mr. Comyn, but her husband also, was there, and said reproachfully: “But I find you extremely rude, all of you! One would say this wine of Rupert’s, of which I have already heard enough, was of more importance than the betrothal of Dominique. Ma fille, come here!”

Miss Challoner came and shook her head. “Dreadful, madam!” she said.

“Devil a bit!” said Lord Rupert. “We’re drinking your health, my dear.” He saw Vidal smile across at Miss Challoner, and raise his glass in a silent toast, and said hastily: “That’ll do, Vidal, that’ll do! Don’t start fondling, for the love of God, for I can’t bear it. Well, what d’ye say, Justin? Will you buy it or not?”

His grace sipped the wine, while Lord Rupert watched him anxiously. The Duke said: “Almost the only evidence of intelligence I find in you, Rupert, lies in your ability to pick a wine. Decidedly I will buy it.”

“Now that’s devilish good of you, ’pon my word it is!” said his lordship. “Damme, if I don’t let you have a dozen bottles of it!”

“Your generosity, my dear Rupert, quite overwhelms me,” said his grace with polite gratitude.

Leonie stared at his lordship. “Let Monseigneur—oh, but that is too much, enfin!”

“No, no,” replied his lordship recklessly. “He shall have a dozen: that’s fair enough. Give your mother a glass, Vidal—oh, and what’s the girl’s name? Sophia! Give her a glass too, for I’ve—”

“Mary!” snapped the Marquis, with a sudden frown. _

His uncle was quite unabashed. “Mary! so it is. Sophia was t’other one. Well, give her a glass, my boy. I’ve a toast for you to drink.”

Leonie accepted the glass her son handed her. “Yes, it is true that I wish very much to drink to my son and daughter,” she said. “Go on, Rupert.”

His lordship raised his glass. “Dijon!” he said quite unheeding, and drank deeply.