“You are mistaken, Miss Thane,” Sir Tristram interrupted, frowning at her. “There is no question of my cousin’s butler leaving his service that I know of.”
“Oh, how stupid of me! Only you was saying to Eustacie that you had found Mr Lavenham’s butler, and she asked, do you not remember, whether his memory—”
Eustacie said in a hurry: “I hope so much that nothing has been stolen from your house, Basil. To have—”
“So do I hope it, my dear cousin. But pray let Miss Thane continue!”
Miss Thane, encountering a frown from Eustacie, stammered: “Oh, indeed it was nothing! I would not for the world—I mean, I was mistaken! I confused one thing with another. My brother tells me I am a sad shatterbrain.”
Sir Tristram intervened, saying in his cool way: “I am making no attempt to steal your butler from you, I assure you, Basil.”
“Of course not! The stupidest mistake!” said Miss Thane, all eagerness to atone. “It is not your present butler, Mr Lavenham, but one you was used to employ. I remember perfectly now!” She looked from Sir Tristram to Eustacie and faltered: “Have I said something I ought not? But you did tell Eustacie.”
The Beau was gripping his snuffbox tightly. “Yes? A butler I once employed? Are you thinking of taking him into your service, Tristram?”
“Why, yes, I confess I had some such notion,” admitted Shield. “You have no objection, I trust?”
“Why should I?” said the Beau, with a singularly mirthless smile. “I doubt, though, whether you will find him so useful as you expect.”