Prudence raised her brows. “She’s ill-watched then,” she said.
“As to that, the aunt plays euchre, and it’s supposed none but the most reputable have admission to these private parties. He’s all conciliation from what she says.”
“Lord, has she a mind to play the fool again?”
Robin looked scornful. “Oh, is it a jest?”
“One of your own, child. I take a leaf from your book.” She laughed. “Or does she dream of the black domino?”
“God knows. The Markham has no hope of her now.”
“A persistent gentleman, faith.”
“I take it the man goes in danger of a debtor’s prison. He’s deeply involved, as I hear, but was used to hang upon Rensley. Now, if the old gentleman ousts Rensley, he’ll have need of a fresh patron, or a rich bride. It’s a dangerous dog.”
He had set his finger on the very marrow of it. Mr Markham saw himself in some need of relief. The turf played him false, and the cards went badly. It seemed to him that his noble friend’s sun was setting fast: Mr Rensley had that day been informed by a grave man of law that no fault could be found with my Lord Barham’s papers. If it could not be proved that my lord had stolen them from the real owner he must stand acknowledged Tremaine of Barham. There was, then, an end to a profitable friendship. Mr Markham had small hope of a happy issue. Mr Rensley, in a moment of impetuosity, had named the sum he would be glad to give the man who should prove my lord an impostor, but although Mr Markham would be willing to perform that office for him he could not at present see the means of doing it.
His recollection of the gaming-house at Munich had led nowhere. Mr Rensley had had some biting words to say of it. Mr Rensley was in a very bad temper over the whole affair, and his manner to his friend was such that Mr Markham began to conceive a positive dislike for him.