Lord Fleetwood, who had been regarding Jemmy with frank curiosity, said: “Jemmy, eh? Er—friend of yours, Miss Tallant?”
“No. He is a climbing-boy who came by mistake down the chimney of my bedchamber,” Arabella replied. “He has been most shamefully used, and he is only a child, as you may see—I daresay not more than seven or eight years old!”
The warmth of her feelings brought a distinct tremor into her voice. Mr. Beaumaris looked curiously at her.
“No, really?” said Lord Fleetwood, with easy sympathy. “Well, that’s a great deal too bad! Shocking brutes, some of these chimney-sweeps! Ought to be sent to gaol!”
She said impulsively: “Yes, that is what I have been telling Lord Bridlington, only he seems not to have the least understanding!”
“Arabella!” implored Lady Bridlington. “Lord Fleetwood can have no interest in such matters!”
“Oh, I assure you, ma’am!” said his lordship. “I am interested in anything that interests Miss Tallant! Rescued the child, did you? Well, upon my soul, I call it a devilish fine thing to do! Not as though he was a taking brat, either!”
“What does that signify?” said Arabella contemptuously. “I wonder how taking, my lord, you or I should be had we been brought up from infancy by a drunken foster-mother, sold while still only babies to a brutal master, and forced into a hateful trade!”
Mr. Beaumaris moved quietly to a chair a little removed from the group in the centre of the room, and stood leaning his hands on the back of it, his eyes still fixed on Arabella’s face.
“No, no! Exactly so!” hastily said Lord Fleetwood.