“There’s one that won’t dance to your piping, my lord,” was John’s parting shot. “And that’s Miss Prue’s sleepy gentleman!”
My lord wasted as much as three minutes on the consideration of this announcement, but arrived at the conclusion that there could be no truth in it. He could never be got to doubt his own powers.
It was understood in polite circles that Mr. Rensley had had disturbing news from his lawyers regarding the claim. It was soon bruited abroad that these men thought some inquiry should be made into his lordship’s past before he should be positively declared Tremaine of Barham. My lord seemed to be quite content with this decision. He smiled, and put his fingertips together as his habit was, and begged the lawyers to make what enquiries they would. Meanwhile he continued to parade the town.
Mr. Rensley was soon infuriated to find that his supposed cousin’s past was hidden in an obscurity there seemed to be no hope of piercing. Inquiries led precisely nowhere. It was true that a Mr. Challoner had once kept a gaming-house in Munich, and it was believed he had gone thence to Rome. But there could be found no trace of him in that ancient city. Indeed, how should there be? Had these seekers after truth mentioned the name of a German baron who had stayed in Rome some years ago they might have learned something of considerable interest from those who remembered that remarkable gentleman. But the seekers, unfortunately, had never heard of the baron, and they were forced to abandon the search for truth.
My lord was understood now to have two children. He spoke of them enthusiastically upon all occasions. Sir Anthony, hearing him, said humorously: “It seems you are to be congratulated, sir.”
“You have said it!” His lordship turned his compelling gaze upon the immovable large gentleman. “My daughter—my Prudence! A Venus!” He looked soulful. “I say it who should not. She favours her mother, my poor Maria. A statue carved in ivory and rose! A goddess, with a voice of gold! Soon you shall see her,” he promised.
“Egad, we’re agog to, sir!” said Mr. Molyneux, smothering a grin. “And is your son thus godlike too?”
“My little Robin!” sighed his lordship. “He has not the height for it, alack! But he is well enough. To see him in the duello is to say he is incomparable. I pine to clasp them to me once more.”
“And—if one is permitted to ask,” said Sir Anthony, observing a speck of dust on his great cuff through a levelling quizzing-glass. “Where are these two paragons?”
“It is permitted. They stay with a friend in France. I send for them when this business is at an end.”
“Did you ever see or hear the like?” demanded Sir Raymond Orton when the old gentleman had gone.
“A most remarkable man,” said Sir Anthony, and yawned behind his scented handkerchief.
Prudence herself, encountering my lord at Lady Elton’s rout one evening, was informed that she too should have the felicity of meeting his daughter. She bowed politely, and professed herself to be enchanted by the prospect.
A new piece of information was very soon passed from mouth to mouth. It appeared that no one could discover whence my lord had sprung when he came to make his claim. It had been supposed that he came from France, but no trace of him could be found either at Calais or on the packet boat. He seemed to have sprung up out of the earth in a manner most mysterious, and he could not be identified with any traveller from France for weeks past.
It was Mr. Devereux who conceived the brilliant notion that my lord had not been in France at all, but even this flash of insight failed to lead anywhere.
Prudence, remembering past traffickings, guessed that my lord had been a passenger on one of those crafts that carefully avoid all ports and King’s ships, but put into land in odd out-of-the-way coves under cover of night. But this she kept to herself.
Mr. Devereux begged her to say whether or no she credited my lord’s claim. She laughed, and tapped her riding whip against her boot. “Why, sir, it’s not for me to hazard an opinion. But it seems to me that his lordship was born to the part.”
“True, very true,” nodded Mr. Devereux. “Charles was saying only this moment he has more the manner of it than our friend Rensley.”
“He could scarcely have less,” said Prudence dryly.
There was a heavy footstep behind her. By an evil chance Mr. Rensley had entered the room at that instant, and was bearing down upon the group by the fire. He came fresh from a gloomy interview with his lawyer; he was conscious that everywhere his chances were being discussed. And now he entered White’s to hear a young upstart from the country pass disparaging remarks upon himself. He strode therefore straight up to Prudence, and with a look in his eyes not at all pleasant, rapped out: “Who could not have less of what, my fine sir?”
It was evident that Rensley had heard all. Mr. Devereux coughed and gazed at the ceiling, reflecting that it was like Rensley to choose a suckling for his prey.
Prudence turned a little to face Mr. Rensley. There was danger confronting her, as well she knew. She said quietly: “I spoke to Mr. Devereux, sir, I believe.”
“Your words were not meant for my ears I make no doubt,” said Rensley evilly.
Prudence bowed. “You apprehend the matter correctly, sir.”
There was a certain air of tense expectation in the room. Prudence felt that she was on her trial. God knew how it would end!
Mr. Rensley might well let be now. He
