“I do, don’t I?” Robin retorted. “One of these days my mammoth, I will cross foils with you, and maybe teach you a trick or two will make you respect me.”
“You are really very like your father,” sighed Sir Anthony.
They went out together on to the lawn. There was a cedar tree not far from the house, and chairs set under it. A lady of ample proportions sat in one: Robin had no difficulty in recognising Sir Anthony’s sister. Beside her Prudence sat in a gown of white muslin. She looked up as the two men crossed the lawn, and rose quickly. “My dear!” she said, and held out her hands as she went to meet Robin.
He put an arm round her waist, and kissed her cheek. “Well, child, does the gentleman like you in this guise?” Privately he thought he had never seen her look better. Handsome she was as a boy, but in her petticoats she was a beautiful, queenly creature: a big woman, perhaps, but not too big for the man she had chosen.
She gave her delightful chuckle. “He says so, my dear, but I doubt he doesn’t like to hurt my sensibilities. But I must make you known to my lady.” She led him forward. “Beatrice, will you be kind to my little brother?”
My lady held out a plump hand. “I’ll be kind to anyone who doesn’t want me to get up,” she said in a voice very like Sir Anthony’s. She looked Robin over placidly. “Of course, I begin to understand,” she said. “You would make a charming girl.”
Robin bowed over her hand, and his eyes began to dance. “Not near so charming a girl as a man, ma’am,” he assured her.
“Very, very like his lordship,” said Sir Anthony pensively.
Robin was made to sit down beside my lady. “I feel sure you are going to entertain me,” she remarked. “I’ve been driven to yawning point: I never could abide a pair of lovers.”
“Oh, I’m come to relieve you, ma’am. I’m to bear Prue off.” He gave her my lord’s letter. “I have this to deliver from my father.”
My lady opened the letter. Said Prudence twinkling:—“Is it true the old gentleman’s Barham indeed?”
“So he says. I arrived to find him installed at the town house in some state.”
“Lord, it’s a marvellous man!” Prudence said. “We become persons of consequence, and Tony’s denied his cherished role. He’d an ambition to play King Cophetua, Robin.”
“The poor mountain! All your hopes fall to the ground, sir. The old gentleman is like to demand a prince at the least for his daughter.”
“Remains only Gretna,” said Sir Anthony. “Which reminds me—how did you leave Letty Grayson?”
“Reluctantly, my mammoth. Shall we be married all four together and delight the old gentleman with so much display?”
“Oh, we don’t desire to dwarf you, little man!”
My lady looked up from her letter. “I’m bid forth to Barham, Tony. You are all in league to disturb my peace. Well, we’ll see what Thomas says.”
Sir Thomas came soon into sight round a corner of the hedge. He was as lean as his lady was stout, and his eye was as vague as hers was keen. He accepted Robin philosophically, but seemed to be exercised over his roses. “I’ve a mind to move them,” he said. “They don’t thrive. Do you understand roses, sir?”
“Alack, sir, my education’s been neglected.”
“A pity,” Sir Thomas said gravely.
His wife roused herself to inform him of my lord’s invitation. “Do we go, Sir Thomas?”
Sir Thomas considered it. “He might understand roses,” he said hopefully.
It was not until later, after dinner, that Prudence had a word alone with her brother. She stepped out with him into the dim, scented garden, and walked with him beside a bed of lavender, her silken skirts hushing gently as she went. In the lamp-lit room they had left my lady said:—“That’s a very pretty pair, Tony. I don’t deny it. You must know you’ve to embrace the brother if you would embrace the sister.”
“My dear Beatrice, do you suppose I did not know it? It’s a devoted couple. I wouldn’t have it otherwise.”
“I shall have to come to Barham for your wedding,” decided my lady. “I’ve an ambition to see the old gentleman.”
“He will fatigue you sadly, my dear.”
“A mad business from start to finish,” said my lady. “I’ll see it to the end.”
Beside the bed of lavender Prudence walked with a hand tucked in Robin’s arm. “So we come to the journey’s end.”
“You’re happy?”
“Egad, don’t you think so?”
“To say truth, I thought it. You achieve respectability.”
“I make you my curtsey, child, for the compliment.”
Robin watched it critically. “Not so prettily done as I can do it, my dear.”
“Oh, I always said I’d none of your graces. But think of my height. And you—what do you achieve?”
“Letty.” He laughed a little. “She would not thank you for calling that respectability.”
“I don’t, be sure. What for the old gentleman?”
“Faith, isn’t a Viscounty enough? Do you look to see him turn respectable too?”
“Optimism falls short of it. In truth, we all achieve something more than our deserts. It’s a quaint world.” She smiled and joined hands with him. “Give you joy, Robin.”
“Certainly, child.” He pressed her long fingers. “And you have it.”
“Yes, I have it.” She turned her head, for a large figure was coming towards them.
“Abundance of it,” Robin said wickedly.
But a week later, at Barham, on the terrace, my lord looked over the lawns to where four people were throwing bread to the carp in the marble pond and waved a satisfied hand. “I contrive!” he said.
My lady looked too at the pretty group. There was Prudence, blue-gowned, and stately, leaning on Sir Anthony’s arm and beside them Robin seemed to be endeavouring to prevent an eager, laughing Letitia from overbalancing into the pond. It was a charming picture and my lady’s bright eyes softened
