“You talked a lot about your people—I suppose, especially about some one called Trafford. Who is he?”
He sat up, with sudden interest.
“Oh! did I talk about Trafford?” he said. “Dear old Trafford! He is my cousin.”
“What’s his other name?” she asked.
He laughed.
“Oh! he has half a dozen; but we always call him Trafford, because he’s the Marquis of Trafford.”
She turned her large, luminous eye upon him thoughtfully.
“The marquis? I don’t understand.”
Lord Norman dropped backward, with his arms behind his head, so that he could look up at her face with perfect ease.
“He’s the Marquis of Trafford,” he explained, “because he is the eldest son of the Duke of Belfayre.”