My Lord Barham in Arlington Street
When the black page announced my Lord Barham next morning both Mr and Miss Merriot were with my lady in the morning-room. My lord was ushered in, very point-de-vice, with laced gloves, and a muff of miniver, and a long beribboned cane. The muff and the cane were given into the page’s charge; the door closed behind this diminutive person, and my lord spread wide his arms. “My children!” he exclaimed. “Behold me returned to you!”
His children maintained an admirable composure. “Like Jonah cast up out of the whale’s belly,” said Robin.
My lord was not in the least put out of countenance by this coolness. “My son!” He swooped upon Robin. “Perfect! To the last detail! My Prudence!”
Prudence submitted to a fervent embrace. “Well, sir, how do you do?” she said, smiling. “We perceive you are returned to us, but we don’t understand the manner of it.”
He struck an attitude. “But do you not know? I am Tremaine. Tremaine of Barham!”
“Lud!” said Robin. “You don’t say so, sir!”
He was hurt. “Ah, you do not believe in me! You doubt me, in effect!”
“Well, sir” — Prudence sat on the arm of Robin’s chair, and gently swung one booted leg to and fro — “We’ve seen you as Mr Colney; we’ve seen you as Mr Daughtry; we’ve even seen you as the Prince Vanilov. You cannot altogether blame us.”
My lord abandoned his attitude, and took snuff. “I shall show you,” he promised. “Do not doubt that this time I surpass myself.”