The Viscount laid down his hat and gloves, and said sternly: “Now, Horry, what happened last night? Don’t put yourself in a taking: just tell me!”
“Of course I’m going to tell you!” said Horatia. “I w-went to Richmond House to the b-ball and the fireworks.”
“Never mind about the fireworks,” interrupted the Viscount. “You weren’t at Richmond House, nor anywhere near it, when I met you.”
“No, I was in Half-Moon Street,” said Horatia innocently.
“You went to Lethbridge’s house?”
At the note of accusation in her brother’s voice, Horatia flung up her head. “Yes I did, but if you think I w-went there of my own choice you are quite odious!” Her lip trembled. “Though w-why you should believe that I didn’t, I can’t imagine, for it’s the stupidest tale you ever heard, and I know it d-doesn’t sound true.
“Well, what is the tale?” he asked, drawing up a chair.
She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. “You see, my shoes p-pinched me, and I left the b-ball early, and it was raining. My c-coach was called, and I suppose I never looked at the footman—indeed, why should I?”
“What the devil has the footman to do with it?” demanded the Viscount.
“Everything,” said Horatia. “He w-wasn’t the right one.”