Mr Devereux beamed upon her, and airily waved one languid hand. “Au revoir, then, my dear Merriot. You will take a chair, and suffer not the least inconvenience in the world. An evening at home — oh no, ecod!” He drifted away on Jollyot’s arm, and the rest of his sentence only reached Prudence as a confused murmur.
Mr Markham went on with his writing.
Prudence walked slowly back to Arlington Street, and remarked to Robin, on his return, that she was in danger of wearing herself away to skin and bone.
Robin was bored. “Heigh-ho, would I were in your shoes! All this female society gives me mal-à-la-tête.”
“Give you my word these card-parties and drinking bouts will be the death of me.”
Robin swung an impatient foot. “Does it occur to you, my dear, that events have not transpired precisely as they were planned?” he inquired with a rueful look.
“It has occurred to me many times. We meant to lie close.”
“Oh!” My Lady Lowestoft was arranging flowers in a big bowl. “But the bon papa planned it thus, my children. I was told to present you to the world.”
“Egad, we owe it to the old gentleman, do we?” said Robin. “I might have known. But why?”
“Seulement, I think he judged it wisest. You escape remark this way. That is true, no?”