Sir Anthony took snuff with a meditative air. “Who says they were not highwaymen?” he asked.
“’Pon my soul, I cannot quite recollect where I heard it first,” said Mr Devereux. “It might have been from Kestrel that I had it.”
“As to that,” Mr Belfort interposed, “I’ve seen Peter Merriot today, and he says Miss Grayson swore they were highwaymen. Her pearls were taken, y’know.”
“All the same, Bel, you must remember the duel! You must remember that. I never heard of a common robber offering to fight.”
Mr Belfort looked portentous. “Now I’ve a notion of my own as to it,” he confided. “What do you say to its being one of these escaped Jacobites, taken to the High Toby?”
Mr Devereux seemed greatly struck by this. “Ay, there might well be something in that, Bel. That’s an idea, you know. ’Pon my soul, that’s a devilish clever notion! What do you say to it, Tony?”
Sir Anthony would not volunteer an opinion. There might or there might not be some truth in it. He strolled away in a few minutes, and was very soon on his way to Arlington Street. Sir Anthony had a notion in his own head, but it was not for Mr Belfort’s delectation.
The lackey who admitted him into the house believed that my lady had gone out. Sir Anthony asked for Mr Merriot, and was conducted to the smaller withdrawing room.
Miss Merriot was seated in the window, supporting her fair head on one delicate hand. An enchanting profile was presented to the room. There was the straight nose, the beautifully curved lips, and the drooping eyelid. The light curls were unpowdered, and caught up carelessly in a riband of Robin’s favourite blue; there was a locket round the white throat, and a fan held in one hand. A gown of blue silk billowed about the lovely lady; the sleeves ended at the elbow in a fall of heavy lace. She did not look as though she could kill a man in a duel.
Mr Merriot stood in a truly masculine attitude, with a foot on the window seat, and an elbow resting on that bent knee. It seemed he had been riding, as was his wont each morning, for he wore shining top-boots, and buff small clothes. A coat of claret-coloured cloth set off his trim figure; his hand played negligently with the lash of his long whip.