My lord presented his son with justifiable pride, and had the satisfaction of seeing him borne off to dice at Orton’s table. Mr. Belfort and Mr. Devereux received him with kindness, and made him welcome. He protested that he had no right to be in the club at all, but was told that that was nonsense. In a day or two he would of course be made a member. He was found to be well-versed in the ways of the world, and could tell an entertaining tale. Mr. Belfort enrolled him promptly in the numerous ranks of his intimates.
On his way out of the room Mr. Troubridge paused to lay a hand on Robin’s arm. “Barham’s son?” he said. “To be sure, we have all been most anxious to see Robin Tremaine.”
Robin rose to his feet, a hand on the back of his chair. “You are very kind, sir.”
“And have you brought your sister?” smiled Mr. Troubridge.
Robin’s brows rose. “My sister came over some time before me, sir. She is the guest of my Lady Enderby, at Dartrey.”
Mr. Molyneux, overhearing, gave a soundless whistle. So that was the charming visitor Tony had written about? Gad, but Tony had all the luck!
Robin very soon left the club in company with his father. My lord had presented him to everyone: several people said that they had thought his face vaguely familiar from the first, and were sure it must have been his likeness to his father. Robin bowed, and suppressed an inward smile.
Once outside the club my lord became more rapturous still. “You are perfect, my Robin! Perfect! There is not a soul will suspect. You had no trouble?”
“None, sir. And you?”
“How should I, my son? Need you ask?”
“I suppose not. Am I to understand, sir, you are in very sooth Tremaine of Barham?”
My lord smiled. “My Robin, confess you have doubted me!”
“Yes, sir. I do not know that I am to be blamed.”
“Certainly you are to be blamed. You who have known me from your cradle!”
“For that very reason, sir, I doubted.”
“Ah, you should have had faith in me, my Robin!”
“I had, sir—in your ingenuity.”
My lord shook a finger. “I saw from the outset that you doubted. I might have convinced you. I chose rather to confound you, as I do now.”
Robin blinked. “Let me have a plain answer, sir. Is this all a trick, or are you Tremaine?”
“Of course I am Tremaine,” said his lordship, with a calmness more convincing than all his heroics.
Robin turned his head to stare. He drew a deep breath. “Give me time, sir. You have certainly confounded me. I confess, I thought it a trick.”
My lord laughed in gentle triumph. “I am always an unknown quantity, my Robin. You should have thought of that. But if I were not in very truth Tremaine of Barham—which I am—I should stand precisely where I stand today. Therein lies my greatness. Believe it!”
“Oh, I do, sir. I’m of the opinion you might be King of England if you choose.”
My lord considered this. “It is possible, my son,” he said seriously. “I do not say that it would be altogether beyond my powers. But there would be difficulties—great difficulties.”
“Lord, let’s remain content as we are!” said Robin, alarmed. “I’m satisfied, sir.”
“I told you, and you would not believe it, that we had come to the end of our wanderings!”
“I doubt I shall wake up soon,” said Robin.
He was present at a dinner party my lord gave that night, and my lord’s guests decided that he was a charmingly mannered young man. My lord said afterwards:—“You will be almost as great a success as your father, my Robin!”
“Impossible, sir,” said Robin, stirring the dregs of punch in the big silver bowl.
“I do not deny it,” said my lord. His eyes rested fondly on his son’s fair face. “Tomorrow, Robin, you will go down to Dartrey and bring my Prudence to Barham.”
Came a slight frown. “The next day, an it please you, sir. I’ve affairs of my own tomorrow.”
These affairs took him, on the next day, to the house of Sir Humphrey Grayson. Sir Humphrey received him in his library, and looked somewhat at a loss. “Mr. Tremaine?” he said. Robin bowed. “I have to suppose—my Lord Barham’s son?” Again Robin bowed. “Er—you have business with me?” Sir Humphrey was puzzled.
Robin looked straightly at him. “Sir Humphrey, may I ask what you may perhaps think an impertinent question?—Are you in your daughter’s confidence?”
“Fully, sir.” Sir Humphrey was a little stiff.
“She has perhaps mentioned to you a man calling himself l’Inconnu?”
Sir Humphrey started. “Sir?”
“I am he,” said Robin quietly.
For a moment Sir Humphrey could find no words. This slim boy—that magic swordsman Letty raved about! No highwayman, no outlaw, as he had feared, but a Viscount’s son and heir! “You?” he gasped. “You are the man who saved my daughter? Barham’s son! You will excuse me, sir; I am completely taken aback! Are you indeed my daughter’s mysterious champion?”
“A grander term than I should have chosen, sir. I am the Unknown who killed Markham, certainly. But I beg you won’t mention it.”
“You are he! Sir, you must let me take your hand! I owe you more than I can ever hope to repay. Indeed, I scarcely know how to thank you, for words seem to be inadequate!”
Robin broke in, flushing. “Sir Humphrey, you will agree that gratitude is out of place when I tell you that I love your daughter. I am here today to ask you for your permission to pay my addresses to her in form.”
Sir Humphrey wrung his hand anew. His feelings were almost too much for him. At one moment he was under the gloomy conviction that the late appalling scandal had ruined his Letitia forever; at the next a brilliant match for her was
