The Marquis gave a short laugh. “Egad, I believe you would! I’ll go.”
“You had better bid your mother good-bye,” recommended his grace. “You will reach the coast quite easily by to-night.”
“Just as you please, sir,” Vidal said indifferently. He picked up his hat and gloves from the table. “Is there anything more you desire to say to me?”
“Very little,” Avon answered. “Your restraint is quite admirable. I applaud it.”
“I thought it was my lack of it that had offended your sensibilities, sir,” said Vidal grimly. “You go too fast for me.”
Avon smiled. “You must not think me witless, my dear boy. I am perfectly aware that you would like to throw my extremely reprehensible past in my teeth.”
“I confess, sir, I find your homily a little ironic.”
“Quite amusing, is it not?” agreed his grace. “I am perfectly sensible of it. But the road I travelled is not the road I should desire my son to take. And you will no doubt agree that a liberal experience of vice gives me some right to judge.” He rose and came to the fire. “Concerning more immediate matters, you may draw upon Foley’s in Paris, of course.”
“Thank you, sir, I have enough for my needs,” the Marquis said stiffly.
“I compliment you. You are certainly the first Alastair ever to say so. You will find your mother upstairs.”