His coolness, though it might argue a lack of sensibility, had always the power to allay any extraordinary irritation of nerves in her. She had been thinking Peregrine dead, but she at once felt such fears to be nonsensical. But Mrs. Scattergood exclaimed, with a strong shudder: “How can you say such things? If that is what you think—”
“No, it is what Miss Taverner thinks,” he answered. “Am I right, my ward?”
“Lord Worth, what am I to think? He has disappeared. I know no more than that.”
“You would do well not to imagine more,” he said. “Your brother is an extremely careless young man, but because he has chosen to slip off on some adventure without letting anyone know of it, is no reason to be in despair.”
“It will not do,” she said. “ You know how much reason I have to fear the worst. All day long I have been recalling that duel, the attempt to shoot him on Finchley Common—even his illness in your house! Have you forgotten these things?”
“No,” he replied, “I have not forgotten them. I am leaving for London to-night. I can get no news of him on the Worthing road. You must try to trust me, Miss Taverner. Meanwhile, I wish that you will remain in Brighton, and continue as much as possible your ordinary pursuits. Until we have more precise information it would be undesirable to start any public hue and cry. The fewer people who know of Peregrine’s disappearance the better.”
“I have told no one but my cousin,” she said. “You can have no objection to that.”
“None at all,” he said with a grim little smile. “I should even be interested to hear how he received the news.”
“With a concern that did him more honour than your sneer does you, Lord Worth!” she retorted fierily.
“I can believe it. Have you ever asked yourself, Miss Taverner, who would be the person most interested in Peregrine’s death?”