“For I don’t mind telling you, my dear fellow,” he said frankly, “that if I’m to appear the thing at this wedding of yours I must give my tailor a trifle on account. Won’t do if I come in rags, you know. Girls won’t like it.”
The Viscount was not exactly a fop, but anything less ragged than his slim person would have been hard to find. It did not require the efforts of two stout men to coax him into his coats, and he had a way of arranging his cravat askew, but his clothes were made by the first tailor in town, and of the finest stuffs, embellished with any quantity of heavy gold lacing. At the moment he sat in one of Rule’s chairs with his legs stretched out in front of him, and his hands thrust into the pockets of a pair of fawn breeches. His velvet coat hung open to display a waistcoat embroidered in a design of exotic flowers and humming birds. A fine sapphire pin was stuck in the cascade of lace at his throat and his stockings, which represented a dead loss of twenty-five guineas to his hosier, were of silk with large clocks.
The Viscount nobly upheld the Winwood tradition of good looks. He had a reasonable height, and a slender build, and bore a resemblance to his sister Elizabeth. Both had golden locks, and deep blue eyes, straight and beautiful noses, and delicately curved lips. There the likeness ended. Elizabeth’s celestial calm was quite lacking in her brother. The Viscount’s mobile face was already rather lined, and his eye was a roving one. He looked to be very good-natured, which indeed he was, and appeared to survey the world with a youthful air of cynicism.
Rule received with equanimity the suggestion that he should pay for his prospective brother-in-law’s wedding clothes. He glanced down at his guest with some amusement, and said in his bored way: “Certainly, Pelham.”
The Viscount looked him over with approval. “I’d a notion we should deal famously,” he remarked. “Not that I’m in the habit of borrowing from my friends, y’know, but I count you one of the family, Rule.”
“And admit me to its privileges,” said the Earl gravely. “Admit me still further and let me have a list of your debts.”
The Viscount was momentarily startled. “Hey? What, all of ’em?” He shook his head. “Devilish handsome of you, Rule, but can’t be done.”
“You alarm me,” said Rule. “Are they beyond my resources?”
“The trouble is,” said the Viscount confidentially, “I don’t know what they are.”
“My resources, or your debts?”