Something of these murderous designs Mr. Markham read in her face: he saw enough in those brown eyes, ordinarily so soft, to make him decide to have no pistols placed anywhere within his bride’s reach on the journey to Scotland.
Letty was taken back into the ballroom, and claimed by a young man of fashion. It struck this not very observant youth that she was out of spirits, and he ventured to inquire the cause. Letty confessed to a headache, and began to chatter and laugh at once, as though to refute her own statement. The laughter might be forced, even hysterical, and the chatter somewhat irrelevant, but the young buck was quite satisfied.
Letty found Miss Merriot and Fanshawe quite close to her in the set, and redoubled her efforts to appear gay and unconcerned. As the dance closed she saw Miss Merriot looking rather closely at her, and was inspired to whisper: “Oh Kate, I have a monstrous bad headache! It makes me feel sick.”
“My dear,” Miss Merriot said instantly, “you should be at home and in bed. Will you have me go and find your aunt?”
“I hate to go away early from a ball,” Letty said, “but my head is dreadfully bad.”
She was promptly swept off under the wing of Miss Merriot to find her aunt. Sir Anthony was left to await the return of his partner, and strolled away to where my Lord Barham stood by the wall.
“No, Clevedale, my dancing days are done,” my lord was saying. “I am now a spectator only … Well, my dear Fanshawe? But what have you done with your lovely partner? Surely I saw you with the beautiful Miss Merriot but a moment since?”
“She has deserted me, sir,” Sir Anthony replied. “Miss Grayson has the migraine, and Miss Merriot has taken her off to find her aunt.”
“Indeed?” said my lord, and proffered his snuffbox. Mr. Markham’s late exit with Miss Letty had not escaped that eagle eye.
A gentle touch on his sleeve made Sir Anthony turn round. Prudence stood at his elbow, and smiled shyly as he looked down at her. “Have you lost my sister, sir? I saw you a while back flirting prodigiously with her. It’s a sad piece, I believe.”
Sir Anthony walked apart with her. “It is,” he agreed. “How came you by so impertinent a brother, my dear?”
Prudence chuckled. “You’ve met the old gentleman, Tony. Don’t you perceive the resemblance? Robin is a rogue.”
“I’m of the opinion he’s a young hothead. I asked him tonight, as the thought occurred to me, whether he knew anything of a Black Domino, calling himself l’Inconnu.”
“And does he?” asked Prudence innocently.
“It’s in my mind,” said Sir Anthony slowly, “that you’re a fitting pair. Is there nothing of the rogue in Peter Merriot?”
“Oh, sir, it’s a most sober youth.”
Came the rustle of silks; Robin swirled down upon them, gracefully fanning himself. “What, my Peter! You’ll make a third, will you? I vow, ’tis unkind in you!”
“I must have a care for your reputation, child. You conduct yourself monstrously when I’m not by.”
Robin cast a languishing glance up at Fanshawe. “Sir, my Peter must think you a sad rake. And here was I thinking you meant marriage!”
“I think,” said Sir Anthony, “that you stand in need of birching, young Hop o’ my Thumb.”
Robin feigned alarm. “Oh Prue, have a care! That is the second time you have heard the mountain talk of offering violence to a poor female.”
“What did you call me?” demanded Sir Anthony, pricking up his ears.
“My tongue—oh, my luckless tongue!” Robin hid behind his fan. “Only a mountain, dear sir. Would you have me call you a molehill?” A laughing pair of eyes showed above the fan. To any who might chance to be watching it seemed as though Miss Merriot was still flirting disgracefully with Sir Anthony Fanshawe. “ ’Tis a term of endearment I have for you: no more, believe me.”
Sir Anthony’s eyes were twinkling. “My dear,” he said to Prudence, “if it weren’t for you I would expose this shameless boy. You’ll permit me to take him in hand when he comes out of this masquerade.”
She shook her head. “I must protect my little brother, Tony. You see what a pert madcap he is. Give you my word, he would be lost without his big sister. You had better abandon us, you know.”
“Oh no!” Robin besought. “What amusement should I have left to solace me if I no longer saw the respectable Fanshawe caught in the toils of a set of adventurers? Does it not go against the grain, my dear sir?”
“No, midget, it tickles my sense of the ridiculous. All that goes against the grain with me is to see Prue in a dangerous position, and to watch you courting Letty Grayson. What do you hope for there?”
“The old gentleman assures me that I am also Tremaine of Barham,” Robin answered lightly. “What do you make of that, O mountain?”
“Very little,” said Sir Anthony. “As for the filial respect you do not show to your father—”
“Prue, did I not say it was all propriety? My very dear sir, I reserve all my respect for my so eminently respectable brother-in-law. The old gentleman is not in the least respectable. If you had had the doubtful pleasure of knowing him for as long as I have, you would realize that.”
“I might, of course,” Sir Anthony conceded. “But so far, the more I see of him the more I feel that he is a person to be treated with considerable respect, and—er—circumspection.”
XXII
Tortuous Methods of My Lord Barham
Robin preserved the light manner, but
