She shook her head. “It is not, sir. I am aware that you must think my conduct — my compromising situation — ”
She got up, averting her face.
Mr. Comyn also got up. He possessed himself of both her hands, and held them in a comforting clasp. “Believe me, Miss Challoner, I understand your feelings exactly. I have nothing but the deepest sympathy for you, and if I can serve you in any way I shall count it an honour.”
Miss Challoner’s fingers returned the pressure of his. She tried to smile. “You are very kind, sir. I — I thank you.”
The click of the door made her snatch her hands away. She turned, startled, and met the smouldering gaze of my Lord Vidal.
His lordship was standing on the threshold, and it was plain that he had seen Mary break loose from Mr. Comyn’s hold. His hand was resting suggestively on the hilt of his light dress-sword, and his eyes held a distinct menace. He was in full ball dress, all purple and gold lacing, with a quantity of fine lace at his wrists and throat.
To her chagrin Miss Challoner felt a blush steal up into her cheeks. She said with less than her usual composure: “I thought you had gone to the Hotel Saint-Vire, sir.”
“So I infer, ma’am,” said his lordship with something of a snap. “I trust I don’t intrude?”
He was looking at Mr. Comyn in a way that invited challenge. Mary pulled herself together and said quietly: “Not in the least, sir. Mr. Comyn is on the point of departure.” She held out her hand to this young man as she spoke, and added: “You should use your card for the ball, sir. Pray do!”
He bowed, and kissed her fingers. “Thank you, ma’am. But I should be very glad to remain if you feel yourself to be at all in need of company.”