“I don’t consider myself omniscient,” said Fanshawe, “but I am under the impression that life in town is more amusing than life at Wych End.”
She perceived the trend of the matter. Ay, here was a pretty tangle. It was, after all, an honour for an unknown young gentleman to be invited to stay with the great Sir Anthony Fanshawe. Her excuse had been lame; in a word, she must appear cubbish. And how to retrieve the false step? “You are under a false impression, sir.”
“I am, am I?”
“I know very well, sir, that I am unduly honoured by your proposal, but I have been taught that it is a greater rudeness to ignore previous engagements than to refuse a flattering new invitation.”
“You have that wonderfully pat,” admired Sir Anthony. “Pray let us forget the matter.”
“So long as I do not stand in your black books,” Prudence said tentatively.
There was a laugh, and a hand on her shoulder. “I confess, I have an odd liking for you, young man. You are absolved.”
Ridiculous that one should feel a weight removed from one’s mind. Prudence decided to say nothing to Robin of the matter, dreading his mirth.