“You can’t betray me into vulgar boasting,” said Collie. “Who does in these days? Nobody but clerks at Peter Robinson’s.”
“Lord Coombe does—but that’s his tiresome superior way,” said Feather.
“He’s nearly forty years older than most of you. That is the reason,” Coombe commented. “Don’t deplore your youth and innocence.”
They swept through the rooms and examined everything in them. The truth was that the—by this time well known—fact that the unexplainable Coombe had built them made them a curiosity, and a sort of secret source of jokes. The party even mounted to the upper story to go through the bedrooms, and, it was while they were doing this, that Coombe chose to linger behind with Dowson.
He remained entirely expressionless for a few moments. Dowson did not in the least gather whether he meant to speak to her or not. But he did.
“You meant,” he scarcely glanced at her, “that she was old enough for a governess.”
“Yes, my lord,” rather breathless in her hurry to speak before she heard the high heels tapping on the staircase again. “And one that’s a good woman as well as clever, if I may take the liberty. A good one if—”
“If a good one would take the place?”
Dowson did not attempt refutation or apology. She knew better.
He said no more, but sauntered out of the room.