The magnificent gentleman was bowing before Miss Gunning. Well they knew that flourish of a laced handkerchief. Egad, but he had all the airs of a Viscount, or of a Duke for that matter. A large figure came up with him; the new Lord Barham gave Sir Anthony Fanshawe two fingers to clasp. Sir Anthony stayed but to speak a few words, and then walked leisurely away.
Came a gasp from my Lady Lowestoft’s direction. My lady sprang up. “Mon cher Robert!” she cried, and held out her hands. Volubly she explained to Mr Selwyn that this dear gentleman had long been known to her.
“Thérèse!” My Lord Barham kissed both her hands. “I have the supreme felicity to find you!”
“Faith, it’s an ecstatic old gentleman!” The voice came from behind Prudence. Sir Anthony Fanshawe had come round the room to her side.
“I’m to understand it’s a lost viscount, or some such matter?” Prudence took snuff with an air of unconcern.
“Quite so. The last of the Tremaines, it appears. Offspring don’t so far materialise.”
My Lady Lowestoft was bearing down upon them with a hand on Lord Barham’s arm. “Mon cher, I must present to you some dear young friends of mine,” they heard her say. “It is a Mr and a Miss Merriot, who are staying with me for a space.”
“I am enchanted to meet a friend of my Thérèse!” his lordship declared, and was straightway presented to Miss Merriot.
Robin arose, and spread out his skirts; as he rose from the curtsey he extended a hand right regally, and gazed limpidly into the face of his sire.
My lord bowed deeply over the hand, and, looking up, bestowed a glance of admiration upon Miss Merriot’s fair countenance. “But charming!” he said. “Charming, I protest!”