“I am sure,” said Lady Fanny, with a touch of defiance, “that if I heard of my John holding — holding orgies with all the wildest young rakes in town I should die of mortification.”
He frowned. “Orgies, Fanny?”
“Orgies, Hugh. Pray do not ask more.”
Davenant had heard a good many stories concerning the doings of Vidal’s particular set, and bearing in mind what these stories were, he was somewhat surprised that they should have come to Lady Fanny’s ears. From her expression of outraged virtue he inferred that she really had heard some of the worst tales. He wondered whether John Marling had been her informant, and reflected that in spite of his excesses one could not but like the Marquis better than his impeccable cousin.
At that moment Mr. John Marling came across the room towards his mother. He was a good-looking young man of rather stocky build, dressed very neatly in Spanish-brown velvet. He was in his thirtieth year, but the staidness of his demeanour made him appear older. He greeted Davenant with a bow and a grave smile, and had begun to inquire politely after the older man’s health, when his mother interrupted him.
“Pray, John, where is your sister? I was put out to see that young Comyn was present here to-night I do trust you have not let her slip off with him?”
“No,” John said. “She is with Vidal.”
“Oh!” A curiously thoughtful expression came into her ladyship’s face. “Well, I make no doubt they were glad to see each other.”
“I don’t know,” John said painstakingly. “Juliana cried out: ‘Why, my dear Dominic, you here?’ or some such thing, and Vidal said: ‘Good God! Have I stumbled on a family gathering?’”
“That is just his way,” Lady Fanny assured him. She turned her limpid gaze upon Davenant. “Vidal has a great kindness for his cousin, you know, Hugh.”