“Providence,” murmured Olivia.
He inclined his head.
“Your father has come to me and extended the right hand of fellowship——”
“He was not the first; there was Bertie—I mean Lord Granville,” put in Olivia, softly. “You consented to know him.”
“The Cherub?” he said. Then, as Olivia looked up with a start, he colored. “He is called the Cherub, is he not?”
“Yes,” she said, perplexedly. “I did not know you knew that.”
He nodded.
“Yes, I have made the acquaintance of Lord Granville. His sobriquet is pretty well known, I think.”
“Every one likes Bertie,” she said.
He glanced at her inquiringly, as he assented: