“Ah, and now that you have told me, announce me, Barrow!” replied Francis affably. “And pray do not bring that dog in, dear Nicholas! I have the greatest dread of dogs, and I know you would not wish to upset me. Really an antipathy, you know! Is it not strange? They say that a liking for dogs is such an English characteristic, and I am sure I am quite English. Cats, now! There is something so admirable in a cat, don’t you agree? No, of course you do not! Barrow, am I to be kept standing in this drafty hall for very much longer, because if so I must have my coat on again?”
Barrow gave vent to his feelings in a snort, but walked over to the parlor and flung open the door, saying with bitter ceremony, “The Honorable Francis Cheviot, ma’am!”
Elinor, who was seated at the escritoire by the window, turned a startled face, and rose quickly. “The—?”
“Yes, it’s Francis Cheviot,” said Nicky sulkily. “But what he wants here I don’t know!”
Francis trod delicately across the room toward his hostess, a hand held out, and his countenance wreathed in smiles. “My dear Mrs. Cheviot, how do you do? Ah, what a foolish question! How can you do in this sad hour? Allow me to offer you my sincerest condolences upon this unhappy event!”
Rather bewildered, she gave him her hand, curtsying slightly. He bowed over it with punctilious grace. She said, stammering a little, “How do you do? I beg your pardon—I was not expecting—”
“Not expecting me?” he said, in a shocked voice. “My dear Mrs. Cheviot—or may I call you cousin?—my dear Cousin, who can have been giving you such a false, unkind portrait of me? I am sure it was not Nicholas! That little rusticity of manner which I am persuaded will be polished away in time, hides a heart of gold, you know! No, no, I must hold the dear boy absolved! But my poor Cousin Eustace—you cannot have supposed I should absent myself from his obsequies! I never neglect those gestures which cost one so little, after all! But I am quite put out of countenance by finding Nicholas here! It is not that I am not delighted to meet him. In fact, I am transported. But I do not know just how I should conduct myself toward him. You see, I am a mourner, and he—dear me, what delicate ground I seem to be on!”
“I wish you will stop humbugging on forever!” snapped Nicky. “You never cared a button for Eustace!”
“Now, this is not just, Nicholas! This Is not like you! Poor dear Eustace! Such a deplorable character! The very worst of bad ton! Always a source of pain to me, but do not let us speak ill of the dead! Death makes the worst of men instantly respectable, you know. Ah, dear Mrs. Cheviot, I should have explained that I am here in a dual role! Yes, indeed: cousin and uncle combined. How odd it seems! I do trust I can carry it off with grace.”
“Lord Bedlington—does not come to the funeral?” Elinor faltered, quite dazed by all this gentle eloquence.