“She is in love,” answered the Marquis, “with a man called Frederick.”
“ Incroyable!” Léonie exclaimed. “Tell me all about him at once. He sounds very disagreeable.”
The Duke looked across the room at his son. “One was led to suppose from Fanny’s somewhat incoherent discourse that the young man is impossible!”
“Oh, quite, sir,” agreed Vidal. “But she’ll have him for all that.”
“Well, if she loves him, I hope she will marry him,” said Léonie, with a bewildering change of front. “You do not mind, do you, Monseigneur?”
“It is not, thank God, my affair,” replied his grace. “I am not concerned with the Marlings’ futures.”
The Marquis met his glance squarely. “Very well, sir. The point is taken.”
Avon held out one of his very white hands towards the fire, and regarded through half-closed eyes the big emerald ring he wore. “It is not my custom,” he said smoothly, “to inquire into your affairs, but I have heard talk of a girl who is not an opera dancer.”
The Marquis answered with perfect composure. “But not, I think, talk of my approaching nuptials.”
“Hardly,” said his grace, with a faint lift of the brows.