Robin turned one of the bracelets on his arm, and shot a quick look at his father. “Well, sir?”
My lord dusted his sleeve with a lace handkerchief. “I come, my Robin, at last. There is work on hand for you, my son.”
“God be praised for that! Do I come out of these petticoats, sir?”
“For a little, son, for a little only! Patience! I unfold a miracle.”
“I’m all attention, sir. Let me hear it.”
My lord sat down by the window. There was a gleam in his eyes Robin knew full well, and the smile curling his lips was one of reflective pleasure. By the signs my lady was right, and there was mischief brewing indeed. “My son, I see the end of the road. It becomes plain at last. I arrange all with wonderful subtlety. You may say that I pull a string here, and a string there, and the puppets move.”
“Lord, sir! Am I one of your puppets?”
“But, of course, my Robin!” said his lordship affectionately. “I set the stage for you to play the hero. You shall thank me.”
“Shall I, sir? It’s a part I’m not in the habit of playing, that of hero.”
“I assign to you a role the most romantic,” announced my lord. “Certainly you shall thank me.”