Anthony frowned at her tone.
"He is very ill, and he is my father's only brother. My place is with him."
"You are a self-sacrificing young man. First, you bury yourself among Irish savages; now, at a moment's notice, you are off to nurse the sick. I should think a valet would do quite as well."
"Here is your tea, Lady Kitty," the young man said coldly.
"By the way, I sat beside such a pleasant old man at dinner, Sir Rodney Durant. He asked me about you, and I told him of your exile. I ought to apologise for calling your hosts savages, by the way, for he told me a most interesting story about your tutor—Graydon, isn't it? It seems old Lord Downside cut him off with an angry penny because he married some friendless little beauty. Scandal said the old lord himself had pretensions. And then, to spite his heir, he married his cook or someone, and has a wretchedly delicate little boy of thirteen or thereabouts. Why didn't you tell me, Auntie Janie, or did you not know?"
"I never take notice of gossip, Kitty."
"But is it gossip? You ought to know, for your husband and this man were friends. To hear Sir Rodney, the man Graydon was a sort of hero of romance."
"An old man's stories, my dear."
But Sir Anthony's face had brightened.