Vidal shrugged. “I dare say,” he replied indifferently. “I don’t lose sleep over them.”
“Cool fish, ain’t you?” said Rupert, eyeing him. “Ever let anything trouble you?”
The Marquis yawned. “I’ve never found anything worth troubling over.”
“H’m! Not even women?”
The thin lips curled. “Least of all women.”
Lord Rupert looked solemn. “Won’t do, y’know. Must care about something, Dominic.”
“Sermon, uncle?”
“Advice, my boy. Damn it, there’s something wrong with you, so there is! Never see you but what you’re after some wench or other, and the devil’s in it you don’t care for one of ’em — ” He broke off and clapped a hand to his brow. “That’s got it!” he exclaimed. “Put me in mind of what I had to say to you!”
“Oh?” A faint interest sounded in Vidal’s voice. “Have you found a charmer, Rupert? At your age, too!”
“Fiend seize it! D’you think I’m in my dotage!” said his lordship indignantly. “But that’s not it. This is serious, Dominic. Where’s the burgundy? Take a drop, my boy; it won’t do you a mite of harm.” He picked up the bottle, and poured out two glasses. “Ay, it’s serious this time, I warn you — What do you think of the wine? Not so bad, eh? Forget where I got it.”