“Oh, yes—the play with the title rôle left out.”
“It is pretty ‘thick’—and Miss Fenton was the marchioness. But she’s not a bit like that in private life. Even Kilboggan gives her a certificate of good character.”
“Even Kilboggan?”
“He’s such a scoundrel. He blackguards every one. But he’ll amuse you. He’s witty and good-looking and one of those fascinating financial mysteries. He has no known source of income, yet he’s always idle, always well-dressed, and always in funds. He would have been a famous adventurer if he’d lived a hundred years ago.”
“But as he lives in this practical age, he comes dangerously near to being a plain ‘dead beat’—is that it?” Emily said this carelessly enough, but something in her manner made Marlowe wince.
“Oh, wait until you see him. We can’t carry our American ideas among these English. They look upon work as a greater disgrace than having a mysterious income. Kilboggan is liked by every one, except women with daughters to marry off and husbands whose vanity is tempered by misgivings.”
“And what is your friend doing in Miss Fenton’s train?”
“Well—at first I didn’t know what to make of it. But afterward I saw that I was probably mistaken. I suppose she tolerates him because he’s an earl. It’s in the blood.”
“And why do you tolerate him?” Emily’s tone was teasing, but it made Marlowe wince again.
“I don’t. I went with Denby—the theatrical man over in New York—several times to see Miss Fenton. He has engaged her for next season. And Kilboggan was there or joined us at dinner or supper. They were coming over to Paris at the same time. I thought it might amuse you to meet them.”