“This is what I’ve married,” remarked Mrs. Bindane, taking her husband’s hand in hers and delivering it into Rupert’s friendly grasp.
“How-de-do,” said Mr. Bindane, looking down from his great height at the dapper little man before him.
“Glad to meet you, sir,” said Rupert, looking up at the limp figure, which gave the appearance of being about to fall to pieces at any moment.
“His father’s a lord, dear,” whispered Mrs. Bindane to her husband, in a hoarse aside.
“You’re just as impossible as ever, Kate,” laughed Rupert.
“It’s my common blood,” said she. “One of my ancestors married his cook: she was the woman who cooked that surfeit of lampreys King John died of.”
“Is Lord Blair in?” Mr. Bindane asked, very suddenly.
Mrs. Bindane turned sharply and stared at him. “Now what has Lord Blair to do with you, Benifett?” she asked in surprise. “I didn’t know you knew him.”
Her husband flapped a loose hand. “I’ve met his Lordship,” he said.
“His Lordship,” mimicked the impossible Kate, giving a nod of simulated awe. “Rupert, my lad, go and tell the boss he’s wanted in the shop.”