Mr Tremaine refused this offer. Having drunk a glass of excellent Burgundy, brought by yet another footman, he announced his intention of setting forth himself in search of his father. Faith, one must face everyone sooner or later; then a’ God’s name let it be at once!
One of the lackeys at White’s escorted Mr Tremaine to the card room, and stood for a moment by the door looking round for my lord. Robin paused beside him, holding his hat under his arm, and his handkerchief and snuff-box in the other hand. Several people looked up, wondering who the handsome young stranger might be. Mr Belfort, dicing with Devereux and Orton, said: — “Gad, that’s a devilish modish wig! Who is it?”
Sir Raymond looked round and met Robin’s eyes. “I don’t think I know him,” he said hesitatingly. “Yet — there’s something faintly familiar in his face.”
Mr Devereux put up his glass. “’Pon my soul, Bel, that’s a monstrous pretty fashion of lacing he has to his coat! A prodigiously modish young buck, I protest!”
At the next table Mr Troubridge said: — “Who’s the stranger? I seem to have seen that face before. A handsome boy, and carries himself well. A little arrogant, perhaps.”
Certain, Robin carried himself well, and had his trim figure well set off by a marvellously cut coat of dark blue cloth. He appeared to have been travelling, for he wore top boots, highly polished, on his small feet, and a sword at his side. His coat was heavily laced with gold, tight across the shoulders and at the waist, and spreading them into wide skirts, silk-lined, the cuffs very large and turned back almost to the elbow to show a profusion of Mechlin ruffles. His waistcoat, a dozen men of fashion noted at once, was of the very latest style; the lace at his throat was arranged to fall in cascades down his chest, and there was a sapphire pin glinting in it. His wig, at which Mr Belfort, an expert in these matters, had exclaimed, must have come direct from Paris; the hat under his arm was richly edged with finest point. His blue eyes were cool; his mouth, though delicately curved, was firm enough; when he turned that arrogant profile towards Mr Troubridge that gentleman said with greater emphasis than before: — “Gad, yes! A remarkably handsome boy. A pity he is not taller.”
The lackey had perceived my lord over by the window, and pointed him out now to Robin. Robin went forward between the tables, and stood at his father’s elbow. “Sir.”
My lord was playing picquet with my Lord March. He looked round and exclaimed. “My Robin!” He threw down his cards and sprang up. “My son!” he said joyously.
Robin stood bowing deeply before his father. “I’ve but this instant arrived, sir.” His lips brushed the back of my lord’s hand punctiliously. “I found you from home, and came to seek you here. You permit?”
My lord clasped his arm. “And I am from home when my Robin arrives! My Lord March, you will allow me to present to you my son?”