Vidal turned his head, surveying his father with candid admiration. “I should like to know how you induced him to make such a statement, sir, I admit. But I did not leave England for fear of the runners.”
Avon smiled. “Did you not, my son?”
“No, sir, and you know it. I left at your command.”
“Very proper,” said his grace, rising. “I have no doubt I shall be weak enough to command your return — when you get back from Italy.” His eyes rested for an instant on Miss Challoner. “I comfort myself with the reflection that your wife will possibly be able to curb your desire — I admit, a natural one for the most part — to exterminate your fellows.”
“I shall try not to disappoint you, sir,” said Miss Challoner demurely.
It was past noon when Gaston returned with his charges. Miss Challoner felt extremely nervous of meeting the Duchess of Avon, but that lady’s entrance put all her fears to flight.
Her grace came into the parlour like a small whirlwind, and cast herself into her husband’s arms. “Monseigneur!” she cried joyfully. “I am so very glad you have come! I thought I should not have to tell you anything about it, but it is all so difficult I cannot manage it in the least, and Rupert will not try because he only thinks of getting all that wine home. Monseigneur, he has bought dozens and dozens of bottles of wine. I could not stop him. He says first he will hire a coach, and now he says no, it must go by canal.”
“It must undoubtedly go by canal,” said his grace, betraying a faint interest. He removed his ruffle from his wife’s clutch. “May I ask, Léonie, why you must needs elope with Rupert in this distressing fashion?”
“But do you not know, then?” she demanded. “If you don’t know, why are you here, Monseigneur? You are teasing me! Where is Dominique? Gaston said that he was with you.”
“He is,” said his grace.