Sir Roland came unexpectedly to Horatia’s support. “Don’t see that,” he said. “Why shouldn’t she hit Lethbridge with a poker? You don’t like him. I don’t like him.”
“No,” said the Viscount, acknowledging the truth of this statement. “But I wouldn’t hit him with a poker. Never heard of such a thing.”
“No more have I, admitted Sir Roland. “But I tell you what I think, Pel: it’s a good thing.”
“You think that?” said the Viscount.
“I do,” maintained Sir Roland doggedly.
“Well, we’d better go home,” said the Viscount, making another of his sudden decisions.
“Th-thank goodness!” said Horatia, quite exasperated. She took her brother’s arm, and turned him in the right direction. “This way, you stupid, horrid c-creature!”
But the Viscount at that moment caught sight of her elaborate coiffure, with its bunch of nodding plumes, and stopped short. “I knew there was something mighty queer about you, Horry,” he said. “What have you done to your hair?”
“N-nothing, it’s only a Quesaco. D-do hurry, Pel!”
Sir Roland, interested, bent his head. “I beg pardon, ma’am, what did you say it was?”