“Nor will you, sir.”
“You relieve me,” said his grace politely. He got up, leaning lightly on his ebony cane. “Permit me to tell you, my son, that when you trifle with a girl of the bourgeoisie, you run the risk of creating the kind of scandal I deplore.”
A smile flickered across Vidal’s mouth. “Your pardon, sir, but do you speak from your wide experience?”
“Naturally,” said his grace.
“I do not believe,” said Léonie, who had been listening calmly to this interchange, “that you ever trifled with a bourgeoise, Justin.”
“You flatter me, child.” He looked again at his son. “I do not need your assurance that you amuse yourself only. I have no doubt that you will commit almost every indiscretion, but one you will not commit. You are, after all, my son. But I would advise you, Dominic, to amuse yourself with women of a certain class, or with your own kind, who understand how the game should be played.”
The Marquis bowed. “You are a fount of wisdom, sir.”
“Of worldly wisdom, yes,” said his grace. In the doorway he paused and looked back. “Ah, there was another little matter, as I remember. What kind of cattle do you keep in your stables that it must needs take you four hours to reach Newmarket?”
The Marquis’ eye gleamed appreciation, but Léonie was inclined to be indignant. “Monseigneur, I find you fort exigeant to-day. Four hours! ma foi, but of a surety he will break his neck.”
“It has been done in less,” his grace said tranquilly.