Lady Fanny curled her lip disdainfully. “Pray do so, my good woman. Really, I find you absurd. Even were his grace ten years younger, I for one should never believe such a nonsensical story.”
Mrs. Challoner felt more than ever that she had strayed into a madhouse. “What has his grace’s age to do with it?” she said, greatly perplexed.
“Everything, I imagine,” replied Lady Fanny dryly.
“It has nothing at all to do with it!” said Mrs. Challoner, growing more and more heated. “You may think to fob me off, ma’am, but I appeal to you as a mother. Yes, your la’ship may well start. It is as a mother, a mother of a daughter that I stand here to-day.”
“Oh, I don’t believe it!” cried Fanny. “Where are my lavender-drops? My poor, poor Léonie! Say what you have to: I shall not credit one word of it. And if you think to foist your odious daughter on to Avon, you make a great mistake! You should have thought of it before. I suppose the girl must be at least fifteen years of age.”
Mrs. Challoner blinked at her. “Fifteen years, ma’am? She’s twenty! And as for foisting her on to the Duke, if he has a shred of proper feeling he will make the best of it — though I am far from admitting her to be unworthy of the very highest honours — and accept her as a daughter (and, indeed, she is a sweet, dutiful girl, ma’am, and reared in a most select seminary) without any demur.”
“My good woman,” said Fanny pityingly, “if you imagine that Avon will do anything of the kind you must be a great fool. He has no proper feelings, as you choose to term them, at all, and if he paid for the girl’s education (which I presume he must have done) I am amazed at it, and you may consider yourself fortunate.”
“Paid for her education?” gasped Mrs. Challoner. “He’s never set eyes on her! What in the name of Heaven is your la’ship’s meaning?”
Fanny looked at her narrowly for a moment. Mrs. Challoner’s bewilderment was writ large on her face. Fanny pointed to a chair. “Be seated, if you please,” she said. Mrs. Challoner sat down thankfully. “And now perhaps you will tell me in plain words what it is you want,” her ladyship continued. “Is this girl Avon’s child, or is she not?”
Mrs. Challoner took nearly a full minute to grasp the meaning of this question. When she had realized its import she bounced out of her chair again, and cried: “No, ma’am, she is not! And I’ll thank your la’ship to remember that I’m a respectable woman even if I wasn’t thought good enough for Mr. Challoner. He married me for all he came of such high and mighty folk, and I’ll see to it that his grace of Avon’s precious son marries my poor girl!”