Robin was silent, puzzling over it. Came the page to announce Sir Anthony Fanshawe. Sir Anthony had called to fetch Mr Merriot to ride out past Kensington with him. Prudence went off, and my lady’s black eyes twinkled merrily.
“That is a romance, not?” she said.
Robin caught back a sigh. “I don’t see the happy ending, ma’am.” He got up and began to pace the room. “I wish I saw my way,” he said, pausing. He bit one finger-tip, frowning.
Her ladyship watched him. “You stand by the bon papa, yes?”
“It seems likely. I see no other hope of a fair conclusion. This is to risk all for the slim chance of gaining all. Well, it has ever been our way. I might be off to France, taking Prue with me. That’s the safe road. I can fend a path for us both. But it’s the end to her romance.”
“And to yours, mon enfant,” said her ladyship softly.
“Perhaps. That does not signify so much. I was, after all, born to this game. But Prue’s not. She hankers now after the secure life, wedded to the mountain, I suppose. It’s a pretty coil.” He resumed his pacing. “I’ve thought on all this, ma’am. I don’t see the way to compass it, for the mountain’s a respectable gentleman, and we — well, to be plain, we’re adventurers. Now comes the old gentleman, in a preposterous guise, and — egad, it’s a forlorn hope, but the only one that I can perceive. If he can brave it out — why then, the Honourable Prudence becomes a fitting bride for an even greater man than the great Sir Anthony.”
She nodded. “That’s certain. Me, I do not see so very much to fear.”
“I see a multitude of things, ma’am, and one more clearly than all the rest. He admitted himself there was somewhere a document bearing his name. If I but knew who holds it!” He broke off, and compressed his lips.
“You think you could obtain it, my child?”