“He may be, of course,” conceded Peregrine, without much hope. “He has a devilish fine house, hasn’t he?”
It was indeed a fine house, fitted up, apparently, in the first style of elegance. The saloon in which they stood was a noble apartment hung with a delicate blue paper, and with tall windows giving on to the square. The curtains, which were of blue and crimson silk, were draped over these in tasteful festoons, and tied back with cords, to which were attached huge silken tassels. An Axminster carpet covered the floor; there were one or two couches with gilded scroll ends and crimson upholstery; a satin-wood sofa-table; some Sheraton chairs; a secretaire with a cylinder front and the upper part enclosed in glazed doors; a couple of thimble-footed window-stools; and a handsome console-table, supported by gilded sphinxes.
There were a number of pictures on the walls, and Miss Taverner was engaged in contemplating one of these when the door opened again and someone came in.
She turned quickly, just as a stifled exclamation broke from Peregrine, and stood rooted to the ground, staring in blank astonishment at the man who had entered. It was the gentleman of the curricle.
He was no longer dressed in a caped greatcoat and topboots, but in spite of his close-fitting coat of blue cloth, and his tight pantaloons, and his shining Hessians with their little gold tassels, she could not mistake him. It was he.
He gave no sign of having recognized her, but came across the room and bowed formally. “Miss Taverner, I believe?” he said. Then, as she did not answer, being quite bereft of speech, he turned to Peregrine, and held out his hand. “And you are, I suppose, Peregrine,” he said. “How do you do?”
Peregrine put out his own hand instinctively and almost snatched it back again. “What are you doing in this house?” he blurted out.
The thin black brows rose in an expression of faint hauteur. “I can conceive of no one who has a better right to be in this house,” the other replied. “I am Lord Worth.”
Peregrine recoiled. “What!” An angry flush mounted to his cheeks. “This is nothing but an ill-mannered jest! You are not Lord Worth! You cannot be!”
“Why can I not be Lord Worth?” said the gentleman.