“What! Markham again! You’re mad, sir; he would never dare a second time, nor she consent.”
“You discount my influence, Robin. Remember that she and Markham too are my puppets.”
Robin got up rather quickly. “What devilry’s this? Be plain with me, if you please, sir!”
My lord put the tips of his fingers together. “She elopes with my Munich friend tomorrow evening, from Vauxhall Gardens, whither she is bound.”
“She elopes!” Robin was thunderstruck. “And you tell me you arrange it!”
“Certainly,” said my lord. “It is entirely my doing. I am to be congratulated.”
“Not by me, sir,” said Robin, and there was an edge to the words.
“Even by you, child. You shall at last appreciate me. Sit down and all shall be told you.”
Robin sank back into his seat. “Go on, sir. I suppose one of us must be mad. Why have you arranged — if indeed you have — a thing so criminal?”
My lord reflected. “It seemed the most poetic justice,” he explained. “It is really exquisitely thought of.” He swung one foot, and smiled sweetly down at the silver buckle. “Nemesis!” he sighed. “My Munich friend thought me of so small account: I don’t forgive that. He conceived that he could bend me — me, Tremaine of Barham! — to his paltry will! He dared — you shudder at such temerity — he dared to use threats to me! He sees me as a cat’s-paw. Almost I can find it in my heart to pity him. But it was an impertinence.” He shook his head severely.