“Mr. Sabin it shall be, then,” she answered; “only if I were you I would have chosen a more musical name.”
“I wonder—have you by chance spoken of me to your son?” he asked.
“It is only by chance that I have not,” she admitted. “I have scarcely seen him alone to-day, and he was out last evening. Do you wish to remain Mr. Sabin to him also?”
“To him particularly,” Mr. Sabin declared; “young men are seldom discreet.”
Lady Deringham smiled.
“Wolfenden is not a gossip,” she remarked; “in fact I believe he is generally considered too reserved.”
“For the present, nevertheless,” he said, “let me remain Mr. Sabin to him also. I do not ask you this without a purpose.”
Lady Deringham bowed her head. This man had a right to ask her more than such slight favours.
“You are still,” she said, “a man of mystery and incognitos. You are still, I suppose, a plotter of great schemes. In the old days you used to terrify me almost; are you still as daring?”
“Alas! no,” he answered. “Time is rapidly drawing me towards the great borderland, and when my foot is once planted there I shall carry out my theories and make my bow to the world with the best grace a man may whose life has been one long chorus of disappointments. No! I have retired from the great stage; mine is now only a passive occupation. One returns always, you know, and in a mild way I have returned to the literary ambitions of my youth. It is in connection, by the bye, with this that I arrive at the favour which you so kindly promised to grant me.”