“Don’t be ridiculous!” she said, with some sharpness. “I sent for you because I want your assistance.”
Despencer meekly submitted to the reproof.
“You know I am always at your disposal,” he murmured.
The marchioness glanced at him with a questioning air, much as King John may be supposed to have glanced at Hubert before proceeding to introduce the subject of Prince Arthur’s eyes.
“They tell me you are horribly wicked,” she remarked, in the tone of one who pays a distinguished compliment, “so I feel I can rely on you.”
“In that case I must positively ask you to go into another room,” returned Despencer, with his best smile. “In your presence I find my better instincts overpower me.”
The marchioness leaned back in her chair, and half closed her eyes with an expression of well-bred fatigue.
“Please don’t begin to say clever things. I want to talk sensibly.” She reopened her eyes. “You see, I can’t speak to the marquis because—well, he is rather old-fashioned in some of his ideas; so I have to fall back on you.”
Despencer slightly shrugged his shoulders.
“Lord Severn is certainly a trifle out of date. He belongs to the solid-tire period.”