"Robert's brother--half-brother, I mean--the duke, is a cripple, you know,
and he is _toqué_ on one point too--their blue blood. He will never marry,
but he can cut Robert off with almost the bare title if he displeases
him."
"Yes," I said.
"Torquilstone's mother was one of the housemaids. The old duke married her
before he was twenty-one, and she, fortunately, joined her beery ancestors
a year or so afterwards; and then much later he married Robert's mother,
Lady Etheldrida Fitz Walter. There is sixteen years between them--Robert
and Torquilstone, I mean."
"Then what is he _toqué_ about blue blood for, with a _tache_ like that?"
I asked.
"That is just it. He thinks it is such a disgrace that even if he were
not a humpback he says he would never marry to transmit this stain to the
future Torquilstones--and if Robert ever marries any one without a
pedigree enough to satisfy an Austrian prince, he will disown him and
leave every sou to charity."
"Poor Lord Robert!" I said, but I felt my cheeks burn.
"Yes, is it not tiresome for him? So, of course, he cannot marry until his
brother's death, there is almost no one in England suitable."
"It is not so bad, after all," I said; "there is always the delicious rôle
of the 'married woman's pet,' open to him, isn't there?" and I laughed.
"Little cat!" but she wasn't angry.
"I told you I only scratched when I was scratched first," I said, as I
went out of the room.
The angels had started for their walk, and Véronique had to come with me
at first to find them. We were walking fast down the path beyond Stanhope
Gate, seeing their blue velvet pelisses in the distance, when we met Mr.
Carruthers.
He stopped and turned with me.
"Evangeline, I was so angry with you yesterday," he said. "I very nearly
left London and abandoned you to your fate, but now that I have seen you
again--" He paused.
"You think Paris is a long way off!" I said, innocently.
"What have they been telling you?" he said, sternly, but he was not quite
comfortable.
"They have been saying it is a fine November, and the Stock Exchange is no
place to play in, and if it weren't for bridge they would all commit
suicide. That is what we talk of at Park Street."
"You know very well what I mean. What have they been telling you about
me?"
"Nothing, except that there is a charming French lady who adores you, and
whom you are devoted to--and I am so sympathetic. I like Frenchwomen, they
put on their hats so nicely."
"What ridiculous gossip! I don't think Park Street is the place for you to
stay. I thought you had more mind than to chatter like this."
"I suit myself to my company." I laughed, and waited for Véronique, who
had stopped respectfully behind. She came up reluctantly. She disapproves
of all English unconventionality, but she feels it her duty to encourage
Mr. Carruthers.
"Should she run on and stop the young ladies," she suggested, pointing to
the angels in front.
"Yes, do," said Mr. Carruthers, and before I could prevent her she was
off.
Traitress! She was thinking of her own comfortable quarters at Branches, I
know.
The sharp, fresh air got into my head. I felt gay, and without care. I
said heaps of things to Mr. Carruthers, just as I had once before to
Malcolm, only this was much more fun, because Mr. Carruthers isn't a
red-haired Scotchman and can see things.
It seemed a day of meetings, for when we got down to the end we
encountered Lord Robert walking leisurely in our direction. He looked as
black as night when he caught sight of us.
"Hello, Bob!" said Mr. Carruthers, cheerfully. "Ages since I saw you. Will
you come and dine to-night? I have a box for this winter opera that is on,
and I am trying to persuade Miss Travers to come. She says Lady Verningham
is not engaged to-night, she knows, and we might dine quietly and all go;
don't you think so?"
Lord Robert said he would, but he added, "Miss Travers would never come
out before--she said she was in too deep mourning." He seemed aggrieved.
"I am going to sit in the back of the box and no one will see me," I said.
"And I do love music so."
"We had better let Lady Verningham know at once then," said Mr.
Carruthers.
Lord Robert announced he was going there now, and would tell her.
I knew that. The blue tea-gown with the pink roses, and the lace cap, and
the bad cold were not for nothing. (I wish I had not written this; it is
spiteful of me, and I am not spiteful, as a rule. It must be the east
wind.)