“Well, I think it was very stupid of him,” said the Duchess.
Mr. Marling said austerely: “Vidal’s conduct is nearly always stupid, ma’am. He has neither sense nor decency.”
“Indeed?” said the Duchess dangerously.
“I have endeavoured again and again to interest him in serious things. I am his senior by six years, and I have not unnaturally supposed that my advice and frequent warnings would not go entirely unheeded. It seems I was wrong. The late scandalous happenings at Timothy’s make it positively unpleasant for me to enter the clubs, where I am aware that I must be indicated to any stranger as the cousin of a notorious rake and — not to mince matters — murderer. Moreover — ”
“I will tell you something, John,” interrupted the Duchess. “You should be very grateful to Dominique, for of a certainty no one would point you out at all if you were not his cousin.”
“Good God, aunt, do you imagine I wish to achieve notoriety in such a fashion? It is of all things the most repugnant to me. As for this latest exploit — well, I ascribe it very largely to my Uncle Rupert’s influence. Vidal has always chosen to be intimate with him to a degree I and, I may say, my mother, have considered to be unwise in the extreme. I don’t doubt he learned his utter disregard for morality from him.”
“I find you insupportable!” stated the Duchess. “My poor child, it is quite plain to me that you are jealous of Dominique.”
“Jealous?” repeated Mr. Marling, astounded.
“Of a certainty,” nodded the Duchess. “To shoot a man dead: it is terrible, you say. For you could not do it. You could not shoot an elephant dead. To elope with a woman: it is scandalous! Bien entendu, but you, you could not persuade even a blind woman to elope with you, which I find not scandalous, but tragic.”
Mr. Marling was unable to think of a suitable retort. His aunt, having disposed of him in this one withering speech, smiled affably, and patted his knee. “We will discuss now what I must do to rescue Dominique from this impasse.”