Merivale sat bolt upright.
“Who in the world——?” he began uneasily.
“Lady Fanny, and Monseigneur, a little. Tell me, m’sieur, did you really stop Lord Harding’s coach——?”
“For a wager, child, for a wager!”
She laughed.
“Aha, I knew! And he was very angry, was he not? And it had to be kept secret, because in—in dip-lo-mat-ic circles it——”
“For heaven’s sake, child!”
“And now you are called The Highwayman!”
“No, no, only to my intimates!”
Jennifer shook her head at him.
“Oh, my lord! Go on, Leonie. Tell me some more. The wretch has grossly deceived me, I’ll have you know.”
“Mademoiselle,” said Merivale, wiping his heated brow, “have pity!”
“But tell me,” she insisted. “Was it not very exciting to be a highwayman for one night?”
“Very,” he said gravely. “But not at all respectable.”
“No,” she agreed. “One does not always want to be respectable, I think. Me, I am a great trial to everybody, because I am not respectable at all. It seems that a lady may do many bad things and still be respectable, but if one speaks of such things as breeches then one is unladylike. I find it very hard.”
His eyes danced. He tried to suppress a laugh, and failed.
“Faith, you must come often to see us, mademoiselle! ’Tis not often we meet such a charming little lady.”
“You must come to see me next,” she answered. “That is right, is it not?”
“I am afraid——” began Jennifer uncomfortably.
“His Grace and I do not visit,” ended Merivale.
Leonie flung up her hands.
“Oh,
“His Grace has a way of making it difficult for one to be—er—kind to him,” said Merivale grimly.
“M’sieur,” answered Leonie with great dignity, “it is not wise to speak thus of Monseigneur to me. He is the only person in the whole world who cares what happens to me. So you see I will not listen to people who try to warn me against him. It makes something inside me get all hot and angry.”
“Mademoiselle,” said Merivale, “I crave your pardon.”
“I thank you, m’sieur,” she said gravely.
She came often to Merivale after that, and once dined there with Madam Field, who had no knowledge of the rift between Avon and Merivale.
A fortnight passed, bringing no word from Justin, but at the end of it a travelling coach, loaded with baggage, arrived at Merivale, and a tall young exquisite leaped out. He was admitted into the house and met by Jennifer, who laughed when she saw him, and held out both her hands.
“Why, Rupert! Have you come to stay?”
He kissed her hands, and then her cheek.
“Devil take it, Jenny, you’re too lovely, ’pon my soul you are! Lord, here’s Anthony! I wonder if he saw?”
Merivale gripped his hand.
“One of these days, Rupert, I’ll teach you a lesson,” he threatened. “What’s to do? You’ve brought enough baggage for three men.”
“Baggage? Nonsense, man! Why, there’s only a few things there, I give you my word! One must dress, y’know, one must dress. Anthony, what’s this fandangle about Justin? Fanny’s devilish mysterious, but the tale’s all over town that he’s adopted a girl! Stap me, but that’s——” He broke off, remembering Jennifer’s presence. “I’ve come down to see for myself. God knows where Justin is! I don’t.” He looked sharply at Merivale, consternation in his face. “He’s not at Avon, is he?”
“Calm yourself,” soothed Merivale. “He is not here.”
“Praise the Lord for that. Who is the girl?”
“A pretty child,” Merivale answered guardedly.
“Ay, I’d have guessed that. Justin had ever a nice taste in——” Again he stopped. “Thunder an’ turf, I beg your pardon, Jenny! I’d forgot! Demmed careless of me!” He looked ruefully at Merivale. “I must always be saying the wrong thing, Tony. It’s this rattle-pate of mine, and what with the bottle—well, well!”
Merivale led him into the library, where a lackey came to them presently, bringing wine. Rupert settled his long length in a chair and drank deeply.
“Truth to tell, Tony,” he said confidently, “I’m more at ease when the ladies are not present. My tongue runs away with me, burn it! Not but what Jenny’s a devilish fine woman,” he added hastily. “The wonder is that you admit me into your house. When one thinks ’twas my brother ran off with Jenny——” He shook his head comically.
“You’re always welcome,” smiled Merivale. “I’ve no fear that you’ll seek to abduct Jenny.”
“Lord, no! I’m not saying that I haven’t trifled somewhat with women now and then—one has to, y’know. Honour of the name, my boy—but I’ve no real taste for ’em, Tony, none at all.” He refilled his glass. “’Tis a queer thing, when you come to think on’t. Here am I, an Alastair, with never an intrigue to my name. I feel it sometimes,” he sighed, “’tis as though I were no true Alastair. Why, there’s never been one of us——”
“I’d not crave the vice, Rupert,” said Merivale dryly.
“Oh, I don’t know! There’s Justin, now, and wherever he is there is sure to be some wench. I’m not saying aught against him, mind you, but we don’t love one another overmuch. I’ll say one thing for him, though: he’s not mean. I daresay you’ll not believe me, Tony, but since he came into that fortune of his I’ve not been in a sponging house once.” He looked up with some pride. “Not once.”
“It’s marvellous,” Merivale agreed. “And have you really come down to see Leonie?”
“Is that her name? Ay, what else?”
The grey eyes began to twinkle.
“I thought mayhap ’twas to see myself and Jennifer?”
“Oh, of course, of course!” Rupert assured him, sitting up hurriedly. He saw the twinkle, and sank back again. “Devil take you, Tony, you’re laughing at me! Ay, I’d a mind to see Justin’s latest. Is she alone at the Court?”
“No, with a cousin of yours. Madam Field.”
“What, not old cousin Harriet? Lud, what will Justin be at next? He’s got his eye fixed to the proprieties this time, eh?”
“I believe it’s true that she is no more than his ward.”
Rupert cocked one incredulous eyebrow.
“For which reason, my dear fellow, you’ll either treat her with becoming respect, or journey back to town.”
“But, Tony—Damn it, you know Justin!”
“I wonder if any of us do? I know this child.”
“I’ll see for myself,” said Rupert. He chuckled. “I’d give something to see Justin’s face when he finds I’ve been poaching on his land! Not that I want to anger him; he’s devilish unpleasant when he’s crossed.” He paused, frowning prodigiously. “You know, Tony, I often wonder what he feels about me. He’s fond of Fanny, I’ll swear. He was devilish strict with her in the old days—never think it, would you?—But me—He gives me a handsome allowance these days, yet it’s seldom he has a friendly word for me.”
“Do you want a friendly word from him?” inquired Merivale, smoothing a wrinkle from his satin sleeve.
“Oh well! He’s my brother, y’know! Queer part of it is he used to take precious good care what happened to me when I was a youngster. He was always a damned smooth-tongued icicle, of course. I don’t mind telling you, Tony, I’m still something nervous of him.”
“I don’t pretend to understand him, Rupert. I used to think there was good in him somewhere. The child— Leonie—worships him. Have a care to what you say in her presence!”
“My dear fellow, it’s not likely I’d say aught——”
