They were left to stare at one another. My lady showed an inclination to laugh. “Well, my children? Well?” she demanded.
“I’m glad you think so, ma’am,” bowed Prudence.
“Oh, what’s to be done with the man?” Robin said impatiently.
Prudence walked to the window, and stood looking out into the sunny street. Her voice held some amusement. “My dear, I take it the question is rather what he will do with us.”
“Can you make head or tail of it?”
“Not I, faith.”
“Ay, you preserve your placidity, don’t you?” Robin said.
She laughed. “What else? If we fall, why then, we must. I see no way of preventing it. Alack, I haven’t the trick of coaxing the old gentleman into sense.”
“There is no way. We’re treading another of his mazes, and the devil’s in it that we’ve no choice. For myself, if the old gentleman would be a little plain with us I’m willing enough to play this game out. But I would know where I stand. We ply him with questions, and what answer have we? Why, that he’s a Tremaine of Barham, forsooth! What to do with a man who can say naught but what is assuredly a lie?”
“I think he believes it,” Prudence remarked, twinkling.