A deep, calm voice spoke from the doorway. “In fact, sir, we are all of us wandering in a maze, and there is only one of our number knows the path out of it.”
Sir Anthony turned quickly; my lord bowed ineffably in acknowledgment of a compliment he had no hesitation in taking to himself. Prudence stood on the threshold, neat in brown velvet, with brown hair unpowdered. She met Sir Anthony’s gaze, and there was a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I’ve this much faith in my father, sir, that I believe we may ruin all by a step taken without his knowledge.”
“My Prue!” His lordship stretched a hand towards her. “I said you had intuition.”
“It seems to me,” said Sir Anthony whimsically, “that I, too, am being drawn into this maze.”
“Inevitably,” nodded his lordship. “You, too, are in my toils.”
“I’m a respectable creature, sir, I believe.”
“If I did not think it, sir, I should deny you the right to aspire to my daughter’s hand.”
Sir Anthony bowed, but Prudence was not pleased. “Let’s have done with that, sir. Sir Anthony honours me beyond my deserts. I don’t desire to see him in the maze.” She came forward and put her hand on Fanshawe’s sleeve. She looked up at him seriously. “Stand back from us, sir. I ask it of you.”
He covered her hand with one of his. “Faith, you ask more than I can perform. I don’t meddle, but I reserve to myself the right to watch over you.”
My lord smiled indulgently, and helped himself to a pinch of snuff. Prudence said earnestly: “Believe me, we were born to this game of hazardous chances. But you are not. Stand back from us.”