Miss Marling chose to ignore this. She sprang up as Mr. Comyn reached them, and laid her hand on his arm. “Frederick, I have told my cousin all!” she said dramatically. “This is my cousin, by the way. I dare say you know of him. He is very wicked and kills people in duels. Vidal, this is Frederick.”

His lordship had risen. “You talk too much, Juliana,” he drawled. His dark eyes held a distinct menace, but his cousin remained unabashed. He exchanged bows with Mr. Comyn. “Sir, your most obedient.”

Mr. Comyn, who had blushed at his Juliana’s introduction, said that he was honoured.

“Vidal is going going to write to my French aunt about you,” stated Miss Marling blithely. “She is really the only person in the family who is not shocked by him. Except me, of course.”

The Marquis caught her eye once more. Knowing that dangerous look of old, Miss Marling capitulated. “I won’t say another word,” she promised. “And you will write, will you not, dear Dominic?”

Mr. Comyn said in his grave young voice: “I think my Lord Vidal must require to know my credentials. My lord, though I am aware that I must sound like a mere adventurer, I can assure you it is no such thing. My family is well known in the West of England, and my Lord Carlisle will speak for me at need.”

“Good God, sir! I’m not the girl’s guardian!” said his lordship. “You had better address all this to her brother.”

Mr. Comyn and Miss Marling exchanged rueful glances.

“Mr. Marling and Lady Fanny can hardly be unaware of my estate, sir, but—but in short I cannot flatter myself that they look upon my suit with any favour.”

“Of course they don’t,’’ agreed the Marquis. “You’ll have to elope with her.”

Mr. Comyn looked extremely taken aback. “Elope, my lord!” he said.

“Or give the chit up,” replied his lordship.

“My lord,” said Mr. Comyn earnestly, “I ask you to believe that in journeying to Paris, I have no such impropriety in mind. It was always my father’s intention that I should visit France. Miss Marling’s going there but puts my own journey forward.”

“Yes,” said Juliana thoughtfully, “but for all that I’m not sure it wouldn’t be a very good thing to do, Frederick. I must say, Vidal, you do take some prodigious clever notions into your head! I wonder I did not think of it myself.”

Mr. Comyn regarded her with a hint of sternness in his frank gaze, “Juliana—madam! You could not suppose that I would steal you away clandestinely? His lordship was jesting.”

“Oh no, indeed he wasn’t. It is just the kind of thing he would do himself. It is no good being proper and respectable, Frederick; we may be forced to elope in the end. Unless

—” She paused, and looked doubtfully up at Vidal. “You don’t suppose, do you, Dominic, that my Uncle Justin could be induced to speak for us to mamma?”

My lord answered this without hesitation. “Don’t be a fool, Ju.”

She sighed. “No, I was afraid he would not. It is a vast pity, for mamma always does what Uncle Justin says.” She caught sight of a stocky .figure at the far end of the room. “There’s John! You had best go away, Frederick, for it will not do at all for John to see you talking to my cousin.”

She watched him bow, and retreat, and turned enthusiastically to the Marquis. “Is he not a delightful creature, Vidal?” she demanded.

My lord looked at her frowningly. “Juliana,” he said, “do I understand that you prefer him as a husband to myself?”

“Infinitely,” Miss Marling assured him.

“You have very bad taste, my girl,” said my lord calmly.

“Indeed, cousin! And may I ask whether you prefer that yellow-haired chit I saw you with at Vauxhall as a wife to me?” retorted Juliana.

“Ill-judged, my dear. I do not contemplate marriage either with her or you. Nor am I at all certain which yellow-haired chit you mean.”

Miss Marling prepared to depart. She swept a dignified curtsey, and said: “I do not mix with the company you keep, dear cousin, so I cannot tell you her name.”

The Marquis bowed gracefully. “I still live, dear Juliana.”

“You are shameless and provoking,” Miss Marling said crossly and left him.

Chapter II

in the sunny withdrawing-room which overlooked the street sat the Duchess of Avon, listening to her sister-in-law, Lady Fanny Marling, who had called to pay her a morning visit, and to talk over the week’s doings over a cup of chocolate and little sweet biscuits.

Lady Fanny no longer looked her best in the crude light of day, but her grace, though turned forty now, still retained a youthful bloom in her cheeks, and had no need at all to shrink from the sunlight. Lady Fanny, who had taken care to seat herself with her back to the window, could not help feeling slightly resentful. There really seemed to be so little difference between her grace, and the boy-girl whom Avon had brought to England twenty-four years ago. Léonie’s figure was as slim as ever, her Titian hair, worn just now en négligé, was untouched by grey, and her eyes, those great dark-blue eyes which had first attracted the Duke, held all their old sparkle. Twenty-four years of marriage had given her dignity—when she chose to assume it, and much feminine wisdom, which she had lacked in the old days, but no wifely or motherly responsibility, no weight of honours, of social eminence had succeeded in subduing the gamin spirit in her. Lady Fanny considered her far too impulsive, but since she was, at the bottom of her somewhat shallow heart, very fond of her sister-in-law, she admitted that Léonie’s impetuosity only added to her charm.

To-day, however, she was in no mood to admire the Duchess. Life was proving itself a tiresome business, full of unpaid bills, and undutiful daughters. Vaguely it annoyed her that Léonie (who had a thoroughly unsatisfactory son if only she could be brought to realize it) should look so carefree.

“I vow,” she said rather sharply, “I do not know why we poor creatures slave and fret our lives out for our children, for they are all ungrateful and provoking and only want to disgrace one.”

Léonie wrinkled her brow at that. “I do not think,” she said seriously, “that John would ever want to disgrace you, Fanny.”

“Oh, I was not talking of John!” said her ladyship. “Sons are another matter, though to be sure I should not say so to you, for you have trouble enough with poor dear Dominic, and indeed I wonder how it is he has not turned your hair white with worry already, and young as he is.”

“I do not have trouble with Dominique,” said Léonie flatly. “I find him fort amusant.”

“Then I trust you will find his latest exploit fort amusant,” said Lady Fanny tartly. “I make no doubt he will break his neck over it, for what must he do at the drum last night but wager young Crossly—as mad a rake as ever I set eyes on, and I should be prodigious sorry to see my son in his company—that he would drive his curricle from London to Newmarket in four hours. Five hundred guineas on it, so I heard—play or pay!”

“He drives very well,” Léonie said hopefully. “I do not think that he will break his neck, but you are quite right, tout même, Fanny: it makes one very anxious.”

“And not content with making absurd wagers, which of course he must lose—”

“He will not lose,” cried her grace indignantly. “And if you like I will lay you a wager that he will win!”

“Lord, my dear, I don’t know what you would have me stake,” said Lady Fanny, forgetting the main issue for the moment. “It’s very well for you with all the pin money and the jewels Avon gives you, but I give you my word I expect to find myself at any moment in that horrid place Rupert used to be clapped up in. If you can believe it I’ve not won once at loo this past month or at silver-pharaoh, and as for whist, I vow and declare to you I wish the game had never been thought of. But that’s neither here nor there, and at least I have not to stand by and watch my only son make himself the talk of the town with his bets and his highwaymen, and I don’t know what more beside.”

Léonie looked interested at this. “But tell!” she commanded. “What highwayman?’

“Oh, it was nothing but just to match the rest of his conduct. He shot one last night on Hounslow Heath, and must needs leave the body upon the road.”

“He is a very good shot,” Léonie said. “For me, I like best to fight with swords, and so does Monseigneur, but Dominique chooses pistols.”

Lady Fanny almost stamped her foot. “I declare you are as incorrigible as that worthless boy himself!” she cried. “It’s very well for the world to call Dominic Devil’s Cub, and place all his wildness at poor Avon’s door, but for my part I find him very like his mamma.”

Léonie was delighted. “Voyons, that pleases me very much!” she said. “Do you really think so?”

What Fanny might have been goaded to reply to this was checked by the quiet opening of the door behind her. She had no need to turn her head to see who had come in, for Léonie’s face told her.

A soft voice spoke. “Ah, my dear Fanny,” it said, “lamenting my son’s wickedness as usual, I perceive.”

“Monseigneur, Dominique has shot a highwayman!” Léonie said, before Fanny had time to speak.

His Grace of Avon came slowly to the fire, and stretched one thin white hand to the blaze. He carried an ebony stick, but it was noticeable that he leaned on it but slightly. He was still very upright, and only his lined face showed his age. He wore a suit of black velvet with silver lacing, and his wig, which was curled in the latest French fashion, was thickly powdered. His eyes held all their old mockery, and mockery sounded in his voice as he answered: “Very proper.”

“And left the body to rot on the road!” snapped Lady Fanny.

His grace’s delicate brows rose. “I appreciate your indignation, my dear. An untidy ending.”

“But not at all, Monseigneur!” Léonie said practically. “I do not see that a corpse is of any use at all.”

“La, child, will you never lose those callous notions of yours?” demanded Fanny. “It might be Vidal himself speaking! All he would say was that ne could not bring a corpse to the drum. Yes, Avon; that is positively the only excuse he gave for his inhuman conduct.”

“I did not know that Vidal had so much proper feeling,”

remarked his grace. He moved towards a chair and sat down. “Doubtless you had some other reason for visiting us today—other than to mourn Vidal’s exploits.”

“Of course, I might have known you would uphold him, just to be disagreeable,” said Lady Fanny crossly.

“I never uphold Vidal—even to be disagreeable,” replied his grace.

“Indeed, and I cannot conceive how you should. I was only saying to Léonie when you came in that I have never seen my son in such scrapes as he is always in. I do not believe John has ever caused me one moment’s anxiety in all his life.”

The Duke opened his snuff-box—a plain gold case delicately painted en grisaille by Degault and protected by cristal de roche. “I can do nothing about it, my dear Fanny,” he said. “Recollect that you wanted to marry Edward.”

Under her rouge additional and quite natural colour rose in Fanny’s cheeks. “I won’t hear one word against my sainted Edward!” she said, her voice quivering a little. “And if you mean that John is like his dear father, I am sure I am thankful for it”

Léonie interposed hurriedly. “Monseigneur did not mean anything like that, did you, Monseigneur? And me, I was always very fond of Edward. And certainly John is like him, which is a good thing, just as Juliana is very like you, only not, I think, as pretty as you were.”

“Oh my dear, do you say so indeed?” Lady Fanny’s angry flush died down. “You flatter me, but I believe I was accounted something of a beauty in my young days, was I not, Justin? Only I hope I was never so headstrong as Juliana, who is likely to ruin everything by her stupid behaviour.” She turned to Avon. “Justin, it is too provoking! The foolish chit has taken a fancy to the veriest nobody, and I am forced—yes, forced to pack her off to France till she has got over it.”

Léonie at once pricked up her ears. “Oh, is Juliana in love? But who is he?”

“Pray do not put such an idea into her head!” besought Lady Fanny. “It’s no such matter, Fll be bound. Lord, if I

had married the first man whom I fancied I loved—!

It’s nothing but a silly girl’s first affair, but she is such a headstrong child I vow I do not know what she will be at next. So off she goes to France. John is to take her.”