“I see,” said Worth. “You want to know whether you may set up your stable. Certainly. I have not the least objection.” He came away from the secretaire, and walked slowly across the room to the fireplace. “There remains, Miss Taverner, the problem of finding a lady to live with you.”
“I have a cousin living in Kensington, sir,” said Miss Taverner. “I shall ask her if she will come to me.”
He glanced down at her meditatively. “Will you tell me, Miss Taverner, what precisely is your object in having come to London?”
“What is that to the point, sir?”
“When you are better acquainted with me,” said the Earl, “you will know that I never ask pointless questions. Is it your intention to live upon the fringe of society, or do you mean to take your place in the world of Fashion? Will the Pantheon do for you, or must it be Almack’s?”
She replied instantly: “It must be the best, sir.”
“Then we need not consider the cousin living in Kensington,” said Worth. “Fortunately, I know a lady who (though I fear you may find her in some ways extremely foolish) is not only willing to undertake the task of chaperoning you, but has the undoubted entrée to the world you wish to figure in. Her name is Scattergood. She is a widow, and some sort of a cousin of mine. I will bring her to call on you.”
Miss Taverner got up in one swift graceful movement. “I had rather anyone than a cousin of yours, Lord Worth!” she declared.
He drew out his snuff-box again, and took a pinch between finger and thumb. Over it his eyes met hers. “Shall we agree, Miss Taverner, to consider that remark unsaid?” he suggested gently.
She blushed to the roots of her hair. She could have cried from vexation at having allowed her unruly tongue to betray her into a piece of school-girlish rudeness. “I beg your pardon!” she said stiffly.