Miss Challoner had listened to this speech with great patience. At the end of it she said, trying not to sound waspish: “But will he, sir?”
“I am inclined to believe so, ma’am.” A smile disturbed the primness of Mr. Comyn’s face. “When he showed reluctance, I promised to return to the chateau to seek another interview with him. A needy divine, ma’am, who has the good fortune to be in charge of a young gentleman making the Grand Tour, has of necessity to be careful of the company he keeps. I, Miss Challoner, appeared to be of so disreputable a character that Mr. Hammond, at the mere hint of a second visit, acceded to my request. I venture to think that when he has made your acquaintance he will see the matter in a more favourable light.”
She had to laugh. “Of the pair of us, sir, it is you who are the most respectable, I fear. If this provoking Mr. Hammond knows my — my lamentable story he will scarcely look on me with approval.”
“He does not, ma’am. Though not apt in the fabrication of lies, I was able to deceive the reverend gentlemen. With your leave, I will now bespeak luncheon.”
“I suppose there is nothing else to be done,” agreed Miss Challoner, accepting the situation.
Luncheon was served in the private parlour, but Miss Challoner’s appetite had forsaken her. She was so sure that the Marquis would pursue her that even an hour’s delay fretted her unbearably. Mr. Comyn said gently that he wished he could convince her of the impossibility of his lordship’s preventing the marriage. But Miss Challoner, having by now acquired a very fair knowledge of the Marquis’s temper, could not be convinced. Feeling, however, that her prospective bridegroom had already a good deal to put up with, she tried not to appear anxious. Had she but known it her consideration was wasted, for Mr. Comyn had a profound belief in the frailty of female nerves, and would have felt himself to be more master of the situation had he been obliged to allay her alarms. Her calm appeared to him to be the expression of an unimaginative nature, and instead of admiring her control, he wondered whether she was stupid, or merely phlegmatic.
Towards three o’clock Miss Challoner’s inward fears were justified. A clatter of hooves and carriage wheels announced the arrival of a chaise. Miss Challoner grew rather pale, and put out her hand towards Mr. Comyn. “It’s my lord,” she said unsteadily. “Please do not allow him to force you into a duel! I cannot bear to bring so much trouble on you!” She got up, twining her fingers together. “If only we were safe married!” she said despairingly.
“Madam, if this is indeed his lordship, I propose, to save you from his importunities, to inform him that we are married,” said Mr. Comyn. He too rose, and glanced towards the door. A voice there was no mistaking was heard outside, raised in a peremptory demand. Mr. Comyn’s lips tightened. He looked at Miss Challoner for a moment. “It seems that you were right, ma’am,” he said drily. “Do you desire me to say that we are already wed?”
“Yes,” she answered. “No — I don’t know. Yes, I think.”
A quick step was coming down the passage; the handle of the door was twisted violently round, and the Marquis of Vidal stood on the threshold, booted and spurred, and with raindrops glistening on his greatcoat.