“Had you known that I was here,” said the elder man in a voice that froze Miss Challoner to the marrow, “you would possibly have made your entrance in a more seemly fashion. You will permit me to tell you that I find your manners execrable.”
The Marquis flushed, and set his teeth. An incredible and dreadful premonition seized Miss Challoner. She looked from the Marquis to her host, and her hand went instinctively to her cheek. “Oh, good God!” she said, aghast. “Are you — can you be — ?” She could get no further.
The look of amusement crept back into the gentleman’s eyes. “As usual, you are quite right, Miss Challoner. I am that unscrupulous and sinister person so aptly described by you a while back.”
Miss Challoner’s tongue seemed to tie itself into knots. “I can’t — I would not — there is nothing I can say, sir, except that I ask your pardon.”
“There is not the smallest need, Miss Challoner, I assure you. Your reading of my character was most masterly. The only thing I find hard to forgive is your conviction that you had met me before. I don’t pretend to be flattered by the likeness you evidently perceived.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the Marquis politely.
Miss Challoner walked away to the fireplace. “I am ashamed,” she said. Real perturbation sounded in her voice. “I had no business to say what I did. I see now that I was quite at fault. For the rest — had I known who you were I would never have told you all that I did.”
“That would have been a pity,” said his grace. “I found your story extremely illuminating.”
She made a hopeless little gesture. “Please permit me to retire, sir.”
“You are no doubt fatigued after the many discomforts you have suffered today,” agreed his grace, “but I apprehend that my son — whose apologies I beg to offer — is come here expressly to see you. I really think that you would be well advised to listen to anything he may have to say.”