Mr. Scunthorpe drew a breath, and turned to address his friend. “You hear that, Bertram?”
“Well, of course I heard it!”
“Didn’t think you could have. You see this coat of mine?”
Both Tallants stared at his coat in some bewilderment.
“Got my man to copy the lapels of one Weston made for the Nonpareil,” said Mr. Scunthorpe, with simple pride.
“Good God, what has that to say to anything?” demanded Bertram.
“Thought you might be interested,” explained Mr. Scunthorpe apologetically.
“Never mind him!” Bertram told his sister. “If it wasn’t just like you, Bella, to fly into a miff, and go off into one of your crazy starts! Mind, I don’t say I blame you! Did he spread the story over London?”
“I think it was Lord Fleetwood who did that. Mr. Beaumaris told me once that he had not discussed the matter with anyone but Lord Fleetwood. Sometimes I have wondered whether—whether he had guessed the truth, but I cannot believe that he has, for he would despise me dreadfully, I am sure, if he knew how odiously I behaved, and certainly not stand up with me at all the balls—for he very seldom dances!—or take me out driving in his curricle.”
Mr. Scunthorpe looked very much impressed. “He does that?”