“For my part,” shrugged Mr Drelincourt, never one to conceal his feelings, “I find those eyebrows positively grotesque. I do not call her a beauty. Decidedly I do not.”
Lethbridge’s glance flickered to his face; his lips curled imperceptibly. “You ought to be delighted with her, Crosby,” he said.
“Pray allow me to present you to the Paragon!” said Mr Drelincourt crossly.” But I warn you, she stammers hideously.”
“And gambles, and drives gigs up St James’s,” said his lordship. “I never hoped for better.”
Mr Drelincourt looked sharply round at him. “Why—why—”
“What a fool you are, Crosby!” said Lethbridge. “Present me!”
“Really, my lord, really! Pray how am I to take that?”
“I had not the least intention of being enigmatic, believe me,” replied Lethbridge acidly. “Make me known to this excellent bride.”
“You are in a devilish humour, my lord, I protest,” complained Crosby, but he moved towards the group about Horatia. “Cousin, permit me! May I present one who is all eagerness to meet you?”
Horatia had very little desire to meet any crony of Mr Drelincourt’s, whom she cordially despised, and she turned with obvious reluctance. But the man who stood before her was not at all like Crosby’s usual companions. None of the absurdities of the Macaroni marred the elegance of his person. He was dressed with magnificence, and he seemed to be considerably older than Mr Drelincourt.