“But it is I who need your services, sir,” said his lordship briskly. “My name’s Alastair. You are, I believe, making the Grand Tour in charge of Lord Edward Crewe?”
“I am, sir, but I fail to understand what interest this can be to you.”
Light broke upon Lord Rupert with dazzling radiance. Suddenly he smote his knee and called out: “By the holy Peter, I have it! The man’s a parson, and that is why you came to Dijon! Lord, it’s as plain as the nose on your face!”
Mr. Hammond looked at him with acute dislike. “You have the advantage of me, sir.”
“Eh?” said Rupert. “Oh, my name’s Alastair.”
Mr. Hammond flushed angrily. “Sir, if this is a pleasantry it is one that in no way amuses me. If you summoned me here, Mr. Comyn, for some boorish jest — ”
Léonie got up, and came towards him. “But do not be enraged, m’sieur,” she said kindly. “No one jests, I assure you. Will you not be seated?”
Mr. Hammond thawed a little. “I thank you, ma’am. If I might know whom I have the honour of addressing — ?”
“Oh, her name’s Alastair, too,” said Rupert, who was fast lapsing into a rollicking mood.
Mr. Comyn intervened hastily as the divine showed signs of deep offence. “Permit me, my lord! Let me make you known to her grace the Duchess of Avon, sir. Also her grace’s son, my Lord Vidal, and her grace’s brother-in-law, Lord Rupert Alastair.”