“Oh ay, I dare swear he’ll suit her. Egad, she’ll turn respectable! I’m to be married myself, John.”
“No need to tell me that, sir.”
“You’re mighty knowing, a’n’t you?” Robin got up, and stretched himself. “And so we all live happily ever after. Who’d ha’ thought it?”
He journeyed to Dartrey in a luxurious chaise, which had the arms of the Tremaines blazoned on the doors, and enjoyed a silent laugh over it, remembering hand to mouth days abroad. He reached Dartrey on the afternoon of the next day, and was set down at an old white house that stood in well-timbered grounds, back from the road.
A servant ushered him into the sunny withdrawing room, and went away to find his lady.
Robin took critical stock of his surroundings. Ay, here was an air of security, of comfort, and of tranquillity. It would suit Prue; she was made to live in just such a house. For himself — eh, but one wanted a spice to life, after all.
A pleasant voice broke into his reverie. “Do you desire to see my Lady Enderby, sir?”
Robin turned quickly to face the long windows that gave on to the lawn. Sir Anthony Fanshawe stood there, sleepy as ever, smiling a little. “She commissioned me to bring you out into the garden,” Sir Anthony said. His eyes ran over Robin, and narrowed. Gradually a look of recognition and of wonder came.
Robin had given no name to the servant. Now as he looked at Sir Anthony his lips quivered. “I thank you, sir. And do I address Sir Anthony Fanshawe?”
“I am undoubtedly a fool,” Sir Anthony said, and came into the room. “But I confess you had me baffled. How are you, my dear boy?”