There was some sternness in the tone. Her left hand came mechanically to cover the maltreated wrist; the marks of the gentleman’s fingers still lingered. “I did not suppose it, sir.”
Sir Anthony rose, pushing back his chair. He walked to the window and back, and the grey eyes followed him. He stopped, and looked down at Prudence; there was gravity in his face, but no anger, she thought. His words gave her a slight start. “My dear, I wish you could find it in your heart to trust me,” he said.
’Deed, but trust was there, in her heart, but how tell him?
“I’ve had suspicions of your secret since the first evening you dined with me here,” he went on. “Of late I have been as certain as a man may be of so wild a masquerade.”
So much for Robin, and for my Lady Lowestoft, scornful of his perspicacity. Well, she had had fears of this. But not even she had realised how much the sleepy gentleman saw. Egad, what must he think of her? The colour rose at the thought. She lifted her eyes; it did not occur to her to try evasion. “I would trust you willingly, Sir Anthony,” she said in a still, calm voice. “I have not liked the lies I have told, and the great lie I have acted.” She put a hand up to her neck-cloth; it was tight round her throat of a sudden. “But there is not only myself involved. If it were all to do again, I would do it.” A look of pride came into her face; her chin was up, but it sank after a moment. She looked down at the ring on her finger, and wiped the trickle of wine from her hand with a crumpled napkin.
“Will you tell me your name?” Sir Anthony said gently.
“It is Prudence, sir. In truth, I know no more. I have had many surnames.” There was no hint of bitterness in her voice, nor any shame. It was best the large gentleman should know her for the adventuress she was.
“Prudence?” Sir Anthony was frowning now. “So that is it!” he said softly.
She looked up, searching his face.
“You are not very like your father,” said Sir Anthony.