Again there was a gleam under the lowered lashes.
“I did; but I can’t say he either recognised our historie name or seemed much impressed. I really don’t believe he had ever heard of me.”
Dudley refused to smile. Instead the frown deepened on his face.
“That is probably just as well. Your actions of late cannot be said to be entirely to your credit. What is this tale about Thursday night? I met St. Quintin’s father with Uncle Bruce this morning in the Park. You told me Quin’s aunt was going to chaperone you. Did she or did she not?”
“I told you Lady Bounce was going to chaperone me. Lady Bounce did chaperone me.”
“Is Lady Bounce Quin’s aunt?”
“That depends.” Hal pushed away her chair, wishing vaguely that fathers and uncles would mind their own business. Either incident alone she could have coped with, but it was a distinct imposition to expect her to manage both at once, and on Sunday night into the bargain.
“I can only presume you lent yourself to such a vulgar proceeding as Quin dressing up as a woman and acting chaperone. Is that the truth?”
“Not entirely. You see, he wasn’t an ordinary woman. He went as his aunt, Lady Phyllis Fenton. His personification was a masterpiece.”
Dudley began to pace the room. His thin lips were compressed into a straight line, and his whole air distincly worried.