“Imbecile!” said Mr. Penicuik. His gaze rested thoughtfully on Kitty’s face. There was a tense pause. “London, eh?” he said at last. “What do you mean to do there, miss?”
Kitty’s heart began to thump. “If—if Lady Legerwood should be so obliging as to invite me, sir, I—I shall do whatever she desires, of course!” she produced.
“Don’t tell me!” said Mr. Penicuik. “Go raking about town, that’s what you want to do!” He turned his eyes upon Freddy. “I suppose Emma—your mother—goes to all the swell places? Almack’s—box at the Opera—Carlton House parties? She was dressed as fine as fivepence the last time I saw her: I daresay fifty pounds wouldn’t have paid for what she had on her back! Not that it’s any concern of mine if your father chooses to let her squander a fortune on trumpery!”
“No,” said Freddy.
“What do you mean, No?” demanded Mr. Penicuik, glaring at him.
“No concern of yours,” said Freddy, with unimpaired amiability. “What’s more, fifty pounds wouldn’t have paid for her dress, let alone her hat, and her gloves, and the rest of it. Dash it, sir, m’mother don’t buy made-up clothes in Cranbourne Alley! Never heard of such a thing!”
Mr. Penicuik’s hand clenched on his ebony stick, and his demeanour was for a moment so alarming that Kitty feared her betrothed might flee from his presence. But as Mr. Standen had just then caught sight of a piece of fluff, adhering to the lapel of his riding-coat, and was carefully removing it, he remained entirely unconscious of the danger he stood in. By the time he had leisure to turn his attention again to his great-uncle, Mr. Penicuik had regained control over his emotions, and merely said: “Plump in the pocket, your father!”
“Oh, very!” agreed Freddy.
Mr. Penicuik regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Suppose I let Kitty go to London?” he said abruptly. “Think your mother will take her to the ton parties?”
“Bound to,” said Freddy reflectively. “Only parties my mother goes to.”