Marling smiled unwillingly.
“You must admit that for Justin to adopt a girl—”
“Edward, I truly believe that he means no ill! Léonie has been his page—Oh, now you are shocked again!”
“Well, but—”
“I won’t hear a word!” Fanny put up her hands to his mouth. “Edward, you’ll not be angry, and hard?” she coaxed. “There’s some mystery about Léonie, I feel sure, but—oh, my dear, you have only to look in her eyes! Now listen to me, dear Edward!”
He imprisoned her hands in his, drawing her to the couch.
“Very well, my dear, I’ll listen.”
Fanny seated herself.
“Dearest Edward! I knew you’d be kind! You see, Justin came here today with Léonie dressed as a boy. I was so enchanted! I never imagined that Justin was in England! Oh, and he has a fan! You cannot conceive anything so absurd, dear! Though indeed I believe they are become quite the most fashion—”
“Ay, Fanny, but you were to explain about this girl—Léonie.”
“I was explaining,” she protested, pouting. “Well, he sent Léonie into another room—my dear, I think she positively worships him, poor child—and he begged me to keep her with me for a few days because he does not want there to be a shadow of scandal attached to her. And I am to clothe her, and oh, Edward, will it not be entertaining? She has red hair, and black eyebrows, and I have given her my green silk. You cannot imagine how quite too tiresomely lovely she is, though perhaps she would look better in white.”
“Never mind that, Fanny. Go on with your story.”
“To be sure. It seems that Justin found her in Paris—only then he thought she was a boy—and she was being ill-treated by some tavern-keeper. So Justin bought her and made her his page. And he says that he has a fondness for her, and will make her his ward. And oh, Edward, I have just thought how wonderfully romantic ’twould be an he married her! But she is only a child, and dreadfully boyish. Only fancy!—she insisted on keeping her breeches! Now, Edward, say that you will be nice to her, and that I may keep her! Say it, Edward, say it!”
“I suppose you must keep her,” he said reluctantly. “I cannot turn her out. But I do not like it.”
Fanny embraced him.
“It doesn’t signify in the least, Edward. You will fall in love with her, and I shall be jealous.”
“There’s no fear of that, you little rogue,” he said, and gave her hand a quick squeeze.
“No, and I am so glad. And now go and put on that new puce coat. ’Tis prodigious modish, and I want you to look very nice tonight.”
“Are we not dining out?” he asked. “I thought—”
“Dining out! Good gracious, Edward, and that child a visitor, and only just arrived! No indeed!” With that she rustled out of the room, full of a new importance.
An hour later, when Marling sat in the withdrawing-room awaiting his wife, the door was flung open, and Fanny sailed in. Behind her came Léonie, hesitantly. Edward rose quickly, staring.
“My love,” said Fanny, “this is my husband, Mr. Marling. Edward, Mademoiselle de Bonnard.”
Marling bowed; so also did Léonie, but paused in the act of doing so.
“I must curtsy, is it not so? Bah, what skirts!” She smiled shyly up at Edward. “Please pardon me, m’sieur. I have not learned to curtsy yet.”
“Give him your hand, child,” commanded Fanny.
The small hand was extended.
“Please, why?” asked Léonie.
Marling kissed her fingertips punctiliously, and released them. Léonie’s cheeks were tinged with colour, and she looked doubtfully up at him.
“Mais, m’sieur”—she began.
“Mademoiselle?” In spite of himself Marling smiled.
“C’est peu convenable,” explained Léonie.
“No such thing,” said Fanny briskly. “Gentlemen do always kiss the lady’s hands. Remember that, my love. And now my husband will give you his arm to the dining-room. Lay but the tips of your fingers on it, like that. What ails you now, child?”
“It is nothing, madame. Only that I am not at all myself. I think that I look very strange.”
“Tell the silly child that it is not so, Edward,” sighed her ladyship.
Edward found that he was patting Léonie’s hand.
“My dear, ’tis as my lady says. You look very proper and charming.”
“Ah bah!” said Léonie.
XII
His Grace of Avon’s Ward
A fortnight later, when Léonie was practising a court curtsy before the mirror in her room, Fanny entered with the announcement that Avon had come at last. Léonie arose from her curtsy with more haste than grace.
“Monseigneur!” she cried, and would have flown from the room, had it not been for Fanny, who resolutely barred her passage. “Let me go! Let me go! Where is he?”
“ ’Pon rep, Léonie, that is no way to receive a gentleman!” said her ladyship. “To run downstairs like a hoydenish miss, with your hair in a tangle, and your gown caught up! Come back to the mirror.”
“Oh, but—”
“I insist!”
Léonie came reluctantly and was passive while Fanny arranged her gown of primrose silk, and combed out the unruly curls.
“Léonie, you tiresome creature, where is your ribbon?”
Léonie fetched it meekly.
“I do not like to feel a ribbon in my hair,” she complained. “I would rather—”
“It is of no consequence at all,” said Fanny severely. “I am determined you shall look your best. Shake out your petticoat, and pick up your fan. And if you dare to run forward in an unmaidenly way I shall be so mortified—”
“Let me go now! Please, I am ready!”
“Then follow me, child, so!” Out swept Fanny, and down the stairs. “Remember! A decorous
