So Léonie and Rupert poured forth the tale of their adventures once more into a most sympathetic ear. Fanny interspersed the recital with suitable exclamations, flew up and embraced Rupert before he could save himself when she heard of his narrow escape, and at the end of it all stared in amazement at his Grace, and burst out laughing.
The Duke smiled down at her.
“It makes you feel middle-aged, my dear? Alas!”
“No indeed!” My lady fanned herself. “I felt an hundred in my boredom, but this adventure—faith, ’tis the maddest ever I heard—throws me back into my teens, ’pon rep it does! Justin, you should have cut him to pieces with your small-sword, the villain!”
“That is what I think,” Léonie struck in. “I wanted to make him sorry, madame. It was a great impertinence.”
“A very proper spirit, my love, but if you in sooth flung a cup of hot coffee over him I’ll wager you made him sorry enough. La, what a hoyden you are, child! But I vow I envy you your courage. Saint-Vire? Ay, I know him well. A head of hair that could set six hayricks ablaze, and the most unpleasant eyes of any I know. What did he want with you, sweet?”
“I do not know,” Léonie answered. “And Monseigneur will not tell.”
“Oh, so you know, Justin? I might have guessed it! Some fiendish game you will be playing.” My lady shut her fan with a click. “It’s time I took a hand indeed! I’ll not have this child endangered by your mad tricks, Justin. Poor angel, I shudder to think of what might have befallen you!”
“Your solicitude for my ward’s safety is charming, Fanny, but I believe I am able to protect her.”
“Of course he is!” said Léonie. “Do I not belong to him?” She put her hand on his Grace’s arm, and smiled up at him.
My lady looked, and her eyes narrowed. On Rupert’s face she surprised a knowing grin, and of a sudden jumped up, saying that she must see to the bestowal of her boxes.
“Faith, the inn won’t hold them!” chuckled Rupert. “Where are you to sleep, Fan?”
“I do not care an I sleep in an attic!” said my lady. “ ’Deed, I almost expect to sleep in the stables! It would be fitting in such a venture.”
“I believe we need not put that upon you,” said his Grace. “Gaston shall remove my trunks into Rupert’s chamber. Thus you may have my room.”
“My dear, ’twill do excellently well! You shall show me the way, Léonie. ’Pon rep, child, you grow more lovely each day!” She put her arm about Léonie’s waist, and went out with her.
“Egad, here’s a fine muddle!” said Rupert, when the door was shut behind the ladies. “Fan’s in a mighty good humour, but lord! is she to come with us?”
“I imagine that the worthy Edward will have a word to say to that,” Avon replied.
“How Fan could have chosen such a dull dog, and you abetted her, I don’t know!” said Rupert.
“My dear boy, I abetted her because he was dull enough to sober her. And he has money.”
“There’s that, of course, but faith, he’d turn the milk sour if he smiled at it! Will you take Fan alone?”
“I almost think that I shall,” said Avon. “I could find no better hostess.”
Rupert stared.
“Are you going to entertain, Justin?”
“Lavishly, Rupert. It will be most fatiguing, but I have a duty as Léonie’s guardian which I must endeavour to perform.”
Rupert sat up in his chair, and spoke briskly.
“You may count on my presence for the season, Justin.”
“I am honoured, of course,” bowed his Grace.
“Ay, but—but will you let me join your party?” Rupert asked.
“You will add quite a cachet to my poor house,” Avon drawled. “Yes, child, you may join us, provided you behave with proper circumspection, and refrain from paying my very dear friend back in his own coin.”
“What, am I not to call him out?” demanded Rupert.
“It is so clumsy,” sighed his Grace. “You may leave him to my—er—tender mercies—with a clear conscience. The hole in your shoulder is added to the debt he owes me. He shall pay—in full.”
“Poor devil!” said Rupert feelingly. He saw into his brother’s eyes, and ceased to smile. “My God, Justin, do you hate him so?”
“Bah!” said his Grace. “–I borrow the word from my infant’s vocabulary—does one hate an adder? Because it is venomous and loathsome one crushes it underfoot, as I shall crush this Comte.”
“Because of what happened twenty years ago—to you?” Rupert asked, greatly daring.
“No, boy. Not that, though it weighs also in the scale.”
“Because of what he did to Léonie, then?”
“Because of what he did to my infant,” softly echoed his Grace. “Yes, child.”
“There’s more to this than meets the eye,” said Rupert with conviction.
“Much more,” agreed his Grace. The unaccustomed harshness went from his face, and left it inscrutable as ever. “Remind me, boy, that I owe you a diamond pin. It was a single stone, I think, of a peculiar beauty?”
“Ay, you gave it me, years ago.”
“I wonder what can have possessed me?” said his Grace. “No doubt you were—er—‘basking in the sunshine of my approval.’ ”
XXIII
Mr. Marling Allows Himself to Be Persuaded
Lady Fanny partook of breakfast in bed next morning, and was sipping her hot chocolate when Léonie scratched on the door. My lady put up her hands to her pretty nightcap and patted her golden curls before she called “Come in!”
“Oh, ’tis you, child! Mercy, are you riding out so early?”
Léonie was in riding dress, with polished boots, and leathern gauntlets, tasselled, and a big black beaver on her head with a long feather that swept her shoulder.
“Yes, madame, but only if you do not need me. Monseigneur said that I must ask you.”
Lady Fanny nibbled at a sweet biscuit and regarded the bedpost with rapt interest.
“No,
