“If,” she said at last gravely—“if you really have not the power to release an innocent man—”
“Innocent possibly as to your purse, marchesa. But he assaulted my officers,” interrupted the questor, stung to retort. “He deserves a heavier punishment.”
She made a slightly incredulous gesture, but the next moment turned to him with a charming smile.
“I am unreasonable, and you must forgive me, signore, because it was really all my fault. Will you treat him as leniently as possible, and tell me when I should be here?”
“Perhaps before midday. Earlier? Who knows!” He spread his hands and bowed. “I will do what I can.”
“I will come at nine,” said the young marchesa decidedly. “And pray let him know at once of my mistake. A thousand thanks.”
She drew herself up with a little touch of the great lady in her manner, which brought a greater deference into the official manner, and at the entrance repeated her intention of being there the next morning. As they walked away, Wilbraham again urged her to leave the matter with him.
“Don’t you trust me?” he asked, wounded. “I assure you he shall have justice.”
“He’s had nothing but the other thing so far,” she said sharply. “Thank you. It’s perverse, I know, but I’d rather go myself.”
“Perverse is no word for his opinion of me, granny,” she was saying twenty minutes later. “The truth is I’m always wanting to shock him, and he yearns to call me ‘My dear young lady.’ People who call you that are absolutely insufferable.”