“I’ve positively no entertainment to offer you, excepting a hand at picquet after dinner,” smiled Fanshawe. “I feel I invite you under false pretences, but you’ll forgive me.”
“Why, I’m pleased to have it so, sir!” There was not much truth in that, but one must say something of the sort, she supposed. She paused. A word must be said also of his strange behaviour of yesterday, since it concerned her so nearly. There was not a tremor in her voice as she spoke: nothing but a mixture of amusement and some reproof. “I have a quarrel with you, Sir Anthony. You must be aware of it.”
He pulled forward a chair for her, and himself stood leaning with his broad shoulders against the mantelshelf. “Faith, not I,” he answered. “Have I offended you?”
One of her long fingers played with the fob of her snuff-box. She looked up tranquilly into the gentleman’s inscrutable, good-humoured countenance. “Well, sir, Mr Devereux is of the opinion I might call you out,” she said, and the twinkle was in her grave eyes.
“God forbid, little man! What have I done to incur this wrath?”
“You must know, sir, that I had an engagement this morning to meet Mr Rensley out at Grey’s Inn Fields. In this I’m baulked by Sir Anthony Fanshawe. I can’t pretend to be pleased.”
She had the feeling she was being watched all the time. He smiled a little, and made a slight bow. “Oh, I cry your pardon, Mr Fire-Eater. But your complaints were better addressed to Rensley than to me.”
Prudence said coolly: — “You may be very sure Mr Rensley will hear from me just so soon as he leaves the surgeon’s care.” It seemed to her that the straight brows rose in momentary surprise. She went on. “Charles is of the opinion I can’t meet the man, but for myself I conceive that so far from considering myself debarred from fighting him after this insult I have the more reason. If Charles won’t act for me — faith, his sense of propriety in these matters is prodigious! — may I call on you, sir?” This was something of a bold move, to be sure, but by the time Mr Rensley was recovered there would be no Mr Merriot in town, she believed.
“I’m of Belfort’s opinion, little man,” Sir Anthony said slowly. “You are exempt from the obligation of meeting Rensley.”
“By your leave, sir. I think the choice rests with me.” She looked up with an assumption of displeasure. “Next time I trust there will be nothing to hinder our meeting,” she said.