‘Why, Bag told me they were old Lord Sunderland’s.’
‘Bag! How can you believe a word that booby says? He always has an answer. To-day, when Afy drove in, I asked Bag who she was, and he said it was his aunt, Lady de Courcy. I begged to be introduced, and took over the blushing Bag and presented him.’
‘But the father; the father, Lucy! How shall I get out of this scrape?’
‘Oh! put on a bold face. Here! give him this ring, and swear you procured it for him at Genoa, and then say that, now you are here, you will try his pheasants.’
‘My dear fellow, you always joke. I am in agony. Seriously, what shall I do?’
‘Why, seriously, be introduced to him, and do what you can.’
‘Which is he?’
‘At the extreme end, next to the very pretty woman, who, by-the-bye, I recommend to your notice: Mrs. Dallington Vere. She is amusing. I know her well. She is some sort of relation to your Dacres. I will present you to both at once.’
‘Why! I will think of it.’
‘Well, then! I must away. The two stewards knocking their heads together is rather out of character. Do you know it is raining hard? I am cursedly nervous about to-morrow.’