“So this is your son, is it, Barham?” My lord nodded in a friendly fashion to the grave young gentleman bowing so gracefully before him. His lordship was not, after all, so very far removed from Robin’s age, but he had the manner of a man of forty. “A very pretty youth, Barham. And are you just come from France, Tremaine?”
“Just, sir.”
“I dare swear you have all the latest fashions at your fingertips then. Is it true they are wearing earrings in Paris?”
“I have occasionally seen them, sir. At balls a single earring is considered in some circles de rigueur.”
By this time nearly everyone in the card room had realised that the modish stranger must be my lord’s long looked-for son. Sir Raymond Orton said that it accounted for the familiarity of his face, and went to be introduced.
My lord presented his son with justifiable pride, and had the satisfaction of seeing him borne off to dice at Orton’s table. Mr Belfort and Mr Devereux received him with kindness, and made him welcome. He protested that he had no right to be in the club at all, but was told that that was nonsense. In a day or two he would of course be made a member. He was found to be well-versed in the ways of the world, and could tell an entertaining tale. Mr Belfort enrolled him promptly in the numerous ranks of his intimates.
On his way out of the room Mr Troubridge paused to lay a hand on Robin’s arm. “Barham’s son?” he said. “To be sure, we have all been most anxious to see Robin Tremaine.”
Robin rose to his feet, a hand on the back of his chair. “You are very kind, sir.”
“And have you brought your sister?” smiled Mr Troubridge.
Robin’s brows rose. “My sister came over some time before me, sir. She is the guest of my Lady Enderby, at Dartrey.”