His lordship made not the smallest attempt to conceal his lamentable past: his attitude gave one to understand that whatever he chose to do must of necessity become straightway a creditable performance. In fact, not the lowest of vocations could demean this grand gentleman.
It was considered then that to be sure, if one had the good fortune to be born a Tremaine one might do most things with impunity. Certainly it was a pity to have dragged that noble name in the dust, but after all one had to take into account that the old gentleman had been cast off penniless when little more than a boy. That must stand for his excuse.
As for Rensley, his attack had been ill-judged, and he had taken many shrewder blows than he had dealt. Not a doubt of it that March was right when he said that the old gentleman had the advantage of him in good manners. A number of people remembered that they had said at the outset that there was very little breeding to Rensley, cousin to the Tremaines though he might be. Viscount or no viscount, the old gentleman had great polish, and he showed himself perfectly at ease in the politest of company.
My lord had something to say on the matter himself when he took a dish of Bohea with my Lady Lowestoft next day. He smiled benevolently upon his daughter, leaning over the back of a couch, and said triumphantly: “You saw me! You, my daughter, had the privilege of seeing a master mind at work! I felicitate you.”
Prudence gave her deep chuckle. “I knew a few moments’ dread, sir, I confess.”
He brushed that aside. “Never again make that mistake. I am invincible. Observe the subtlety of my methods! I achieve a miracle.”
My lady gave a piece of angel cake to the monkey nestling at her feet. “You told them, then, mon cher? You admitted the past?”
“They hung on my lips,” his lordship said dramatically.
“They waited breathlessly to hear what I would say. As always I became the centre, the dominating presence.”
My lady twinkled. “And you said?” she prompted.