Mr. Comyn said gravely: “Your lordship is mistaken in Miss Challoner. I can explain — ”
“No, no, don’t do that, my boy!” said Rupert hastily. “We’ve had enough explanations. What we want is dinner. Where’s that rascally landlord?” He went to the door, but as he opened it he bethought himself of something, and looked back. “Burn it, if we do get rid of Vidal’s wench there’s still that silly chit Juliana. What’s to be done with her?”
Juliana said in a small, dignified voice: “I am here, Uncle Rupert.”
“Of course you’re there. I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?” said his lordship testily. “Though why you’re here the Lord only knows. Well, there’s naught for it: you’ll have to marry young Comyn here, unless Vidal will have you, which I don’t think he will. Lord, was there ever such a family?”
Mr. Comyn was regarding Juliana fixedly. She did not look at him, but blushed, and stammered: “I do not want to — to marry Mr. Comyn, and he does not want to marry m-me.”
“Now don’t start to make a lot more difficulties!” begged his lordship. “You can’t go chasing all over France with a man, and leaving silly letters for a born fool like Elisabeth, and stay single. Why, it’s unheard of!”
“I did not go with a — a man!” said Juliana, blushing more deeply still. “I went with my cousin.”
“I know you did,” said Rupert frankly. “That’s what’s bothering me.”
The Duchess was pondering over her own worries, but this caught her attention, and she fired up. “It is perfectly respectable for Juliana to go with my son, Rupert!”
“It ain’t,” said Rupert. “She couldn’t have chosen a worse companion. Now don’t be in a heat, Léonie, for God’s sake! I don’t say the chit wasn’t as safe with Vidal as with that devilish dull brother of hers, but there ain’t a soul will believe that. No, we’ll have to set it about that she went off with Comyn, and you can tell Fanny, for I’ll be damned if I do.”