His children maintained an admirable composure. “Like Jonah cast up out of the whale’s belly,” said Robin.
My lord was not in the least put out of countenance by this coolness. “My son!” He swooped upon Robin. “Perfect! To the last detail! My Prudence!”
Prudence submitted to a fervent embrace. “Well, sir, how do you do?” she said, smiling. “We perceive you are returned to us, but we don’t understand the manner of it.”
He struck an attitude. “But do you not know? I am Tremaine. Tremaine of Barham!”
“Lud!” said Robin. “You don’t say so, sir!”
He was hurt. “Ah, you do not believe in me! You doubt me, in effect!”
“Well, sir”—Prudence sat on the arm of Robin’s chair, and gently swung one booted leg to and fro—“We’ve seen you as Mr. Colney; we’ve seen you as Mr. Daughtry; we’ve even seen you as the Prince Vanilov. You cannot altogether blame us.”
My lord abandoned his attitude, and took snuff. “I shall show you,” he promised. “Do not doubt that this time I surpass myself.”
“We don’t doubt that, sir.”
My lady said on a gurgling laugh: “But what will you be at, mon cher? What madness?”
“I am Tremaine of Barham,” reiterated his lordship, with dignity. “Almost I had forgot it, but I come now into my own. You must have known”—he addressed the room at large—“you who have watched me, that there was more to me than a mere wandering gamester!”
“Faith, we thought it just devilry, sir,” Prudence chuckled.
“You do not appreciate me,” said my lord sadly, and sat him down by the table. “You lack soul, my children. Yes, you lack soul.”
“I concede you all my admiration, sir,” said Prudence.
“You shall concede me more still. You shall recognise a master mind in me, my Prudence. We come to the end of our travels.”
“Tyburn way,” said Robin, and laughed. “Egad, sir, you’ve a maggot in your head to venture on such a piece of folly!”
The old gentleman’s eyes glinted. “Do my schemes go awry, then? Do I fail in what I undertake to do, Robin my son?”
“You don’t, sir, I’m willing to admit, but you break fresh ground now, and I believe you don’t know the obstacles. This is England.”
“Robin acquires geography!” My lord smiled gently. “It is the land of my birth. I am come home, enfin. I am Tremaine of Barham.”
“And pray what are we, sir?” inquired Robin, with interest.
“At present, mes enfants, you are Mr. and Miss Merriot. I compliment you. It is admirable. I see that you inherit a part of my genius.” He kissed his fingertips to them. “When I have made all secure you are the Honourable Robin, and the Honourable Prudence Tremaine.”
“Of Barham,” interpolated Prudence.
He looked at her affectionately. “For you, my beautiful Prue, I plan a great marriage,” he informed her magnificently.
“A Royal Prince, belike?” said Prudence, unimpressed.
“I will choose from an older house than this of Hanover,” my lord said grandly. “Have no fear.”
Robin looked at his sister. “My dear, what to do?” he said helplessly.
“Leave all to me!” commanded my lord. “I do not make mistakes.”
“Except in the matter of Royal Princes,” said Robin, with meaning.
“Bah! I forget all that!” The past was consigned to perdition with a snap of thin fingers. “It might have chanced otherwise. I seized opportunity, as ever. Do you blame me for the Rebellion’s failure?”
Prudence shook her head. “Ah, sir, you should have been put at the head of it,” she mourned. “The Prince would be at St. James’s today then.”
My lord was forcibly struck by this view of the case. “My child, you have intuition,” he said seriously. “You are right. Yes, beyond all doubt you are right.” He sat lost in meditation, planning, they knew, great deeds that might have been.
They exchanged glances. My lady sat by the window, chin in hand, raptly gazing upon the old gentleman out of her narrow eyes. There was nothing to do but to wait for him to come out of his trance. Robin sat back in his chair with a shrug of fatalism; his sister continued to sling one booted leg.
My lord looked up. “Dreams!” he waved them aside. “Dreams! I am a great man,” he said simply.
“You are, sir,” agreed Prudence. “But we should like to know what you plan now.”
“I have done with plans and plots,” he told her. “I am Tremaine of Barham.”
There seemed to be no hope of getting anything more out of him. But Prudence persevered. “So you have told us, sir. But can you prove it to the satisfaction of Mr. Rensley?”
“If Rensley becomes a nuisance, Rensley must go,” my lord declared, with resolution.
“Murder, sir?”
“He will disappear. I shall see to it. It need not worry you. I arrange all for the best.”
“I wonder whether Mr. Rensley will see it in that light?” said Prudence. “Does he acknowledge you, sir?”
“No,” admitted his lordship. “But he fears me. Believe it, he fears me!”
Robin had been sitting with closed eyes, but he opened them now. “I grant you this much, sir: you are to be feared.”
“My Robin!” My lord flung out a hand to him. “You begin to know me then!”
“I’ve a very lively fear of you myself,” said Robin frankly. “Give me audience a moment!”
“Speak, my son. I listen. I am all attention.”
Robin looked at his fingertips. “Well, sir, the matter stands thus: we’ve a mind to turn respectable, Prue and I.” He raised his eyes. His father’s expression was one of courteous interest. “I admit we don’t see our way clear. We wait on you. To be candid, sir, you pushed us into the late Rebellion, and it is
