She was thinking of this when the sound of horses came to her ear. In another minute or two the wheels stopped by the porch.
Robin peered through the windowpane. “This will be John at last. Oh lord, ma’am, it’s the old gentleman himself!”
Marthe was evidently waiting to let in the travellers, for a few seconds later the door of the boudoir opened, and my Lord Barham walked in, point-de-vice as ever, in a scarlet riding coat under his cloak, buff small-clothes, and high top-boots.
“Well, Robert!” said my lady.
My lord kissed her hand punctiliously, but without his usual display of rapture. A severe gaze was bent upon his son. “The whole of this affair,” announced my lord in an awful voice, “is deplorable in the extreme. It has been botched and bungled in a manner passing my comprehension.”
John, entering behind my lord, shut the door. “He’s been like this all the way down,” he told Robin. “We’d ha’ been here an hour since, but that he must needs stop to change his clothes,” he added.
“It is not my habit to drive about the country in ball dress,” said my lord crushingly.
It was quite evident that he was very much put out. Lady Lowestoft patted the couch invitingly. “But sit down, my dear Robert!” she coaxed.
My lord came out of his cloak. “Take it!” he said. John obeyed with a wry smile at Robin. My lord gave his ruffles a twitch, and bent to flick a speck of dust from his shining boots. He then walked to the fireplace, and entirely ignoring my lady’s invitation, stood with his back to it, and proceeded to deliver himself of a terrific denunciation. “Botched and bungled!” he repeated. He appeared to address no one in particular. “Are my schemes so incomplete they need adjustments? Do I leave aught to chance? Am I to be set aside, disregarded, overruled? In a word, am I to be disobeyed?”
His hearers felt that they were not expected to venture a reply. Robin sat down astride a chair, laid his arms along the back of it, propped his chin on them, and waited patiently. My lord’s eyes swept the room. “I am not!” he said, in a tone that made my lady jump guiltily. “At the start of this episode I made my plans. They were beautifully complete. I do myself less than justice: they were perfect! I issued my orders: a child might have comprehended them. Not so my son. Did I ordain that my Prudence should embroil herself in the affair? I did not. Did I inform my son that I desired him to escort Miss Grayson home when all was done? I did not. No one possessing but the smallest knowledge of me could have supposed it possible that I should meditate such a piece of folly! My children chose to set me at naught. They meddled in a plan of my making!” The penetrating eye flashed.
Robin sighed, and continued to watch his father; my lady blinked; John, standing still by the door, compressed his lips, and looked at my lord rather as an adult might look upon the tiresome tricks of a small child.
My lord’s accusing gaze rested on each one in turn. “I have a forbearance passing anything one could imagine,” he said amazingly. “Did I, when this came to my astonished, my incredulous ears, give way to my very righteous indignation? I did not. Some slight reproof I may have allowed to pass my lips. Enough, one would say to warn my children that in future they must obey the very letter of my law. The thing was done; the crass error had been perpetrated. To what avail my censure? I held my peace. I said only: ‘Do nothing without word from me. Await my instructions!’ When you came to this place—a measure of which I never approved—I said it. To John, my servant, I said more emphatically still: ‘If aught should befall my children apprise me instantly.’ By John no less than by my children have I been disregarded.”
“Ay, my lord, and I’ve been telling you for the past hour more that I was on my way to you when I met Sir Anthony. If you would but listen—”
My lord flung up a hand. “You interrupt me at every turn! Allow me to speak!” The tone was not that of a request; John looked helplessly at Robin, who held up a finger. It was quite plain to Robin that his father was greatly annoyed to think that anyone but himself had had a hand in the management of the affair.
“I have said I was disregarded,” my lord continued. “It is very true! tragically true! Do you suppose that I had not foreseen the apprehension of my daughter? It is possible you could think I had not made my plans in preparation of this?” He paused a moment. Robin, who had thought precisely this, held his piece. My lord, satisfied that he was not going to venture to speak, swept on. “It was, from the first moment of deviation from my original schemes a contingency to be expected. I expected it. It happens. My daughter is arrested; my servant, not yet lost to all sense of what is due to me, sets off to apprise me of it. He meets Sir Anthony Fanshawe. He should never have done such a thing!”
John was moved to answer. “ ’Deed, and how could I help it, my lord?” he said indignantly.
“Of course you could have helped it. In your place should I have fallen into the arms of Sir Anthony? Certainly not! Sir Anthony—I excuse him only because he has not had the inestimable advantage of being trained by me from childhood—must needs meddle—must needs put a clumsy finger into a pie of my making! And John! Does he inform Sir Anthony that it is unwise, nay, dangerous to meddle in my affairs?”
“Yes, my lord,” said John unexpectedly. “I did.”
“You put me out with these
