The wine was brought; one or two gentlemen had wandered towards the table, and stood now in converse there. Sir Anthony made Mr Merriot known to them. Prudence found herself pledged to ride out next morning in the Park with a chubby-faced young gentleman of a friendly disposition. This was the Honourable Charles Belfort, who combined a passion for dice with almost phenomenal ill-luck, but managed to remain cheerful under it.
‘Well, Charles, what fortune?’ Sir Anthony looked up in some amusement at the young profligate.
‘The same as ever. It always is.’ Belfort shook his head. ‘Bad, very bad, but I have a notion that my luck will turn to-morrow, at about eight o’clock.’
‘Good Gad, Bel, why at eight?’ demanded Mr Molyneux.
The Honourable Charles looked grave. ‘Angels told me so in a vision,’ he said.
There was a shout of laughter.
‘Nonsense, Charles, they were prophesying your entry into a spunging house!’ This was my Lord Kestrel
, leaning on the back of Fanshawe’s chair.
‘You see how it is, sir’ – Belfort addressed himself plaintively to Prudence. – ‘They all laugh at me, even when I tell them of a visitation from heaven. Irreligious, damme, that’s what it is.’
There was a fresh outburst of mirth. Through it came Sir Anthony’s deep voice, full of friendly mockery. ‘You delude yourself, Charles: no angel would visit you unless by mischance. Doubtless a sign from the devil that he is about to claim his own.’ He rose, and picked up his snuff-box. ‘Well, Merriot, I must do myself the pleasure of making my bow to your sister. Upstairs, when I was there, she was surrounded.’
‘I’ll lead you to her, sir,’ said Prudence readily. ‘At nine in the morning, Mr Belfort: I shall be with you.’
Sir Anthony went out on Mr Merriot’s arm. Halfway up the broad stairway he said: ‘It occurs to me you may be in need of a sponsor at White’s, my dear boy. You know you may command me. May I carry your name there?’
So she was to become a member of a club for gentlemen of quality? Egad, where would it all end? No help for it: the large gentleman overwhelmed one. She accepted gracefully, and then with a hesitancy not unpleasing in a young man looked up into the square face, and said diffidently: – ‘I think you go to some trouble for me, Sir Anthony. From all I have heard I had not thought to find so much kindness in London.’
‘There are any number would do the same, boy – my friend Jollyot, for instance. But you had better take me for sponsor.’
‘I do, very gladly, sir.’
They came into the withdrawing room, where the crowd had dwindled somewhat. Robin was easily found, talking to an exquisite of advanced years. From the looks of it he was receiving some extravagant compliments. Prudence could not but applaud inwardly the pretty modesty of the downcast eye, and the face slightly averted.
Over his fan Robin saw them. He rid himself of his elderly admirer with some adroitness, and came rustling forward. ‘My dear, I vow I am nigh to swooning from fatigue!’ he told Prudence. He swept a curtsey to Sir Anthony, and flashed him a dazzling smile. ‘Give you good even, sir. I saw you a while back, but there was such a press of people then!’
Sir Anthony’s lips just brushed Robin’s hand. ‘All gathered about Miss Merriot,’ he said gallantly.
‘What, with the beautiful Miss Gunning in the same room? Fie, sir, this is flattery! Peter, of your love for me, procure me a glass of negus.’
Prudence went away to execute this command; Robin sat down with Sir Anthony upon a couch. When Prudence returned with the wine it seemed as though a good understanding had been established between them. Robin looked up brightly. ‘Sir Anthony tells me he is to steal you from me on Thursday, my Peter. Thus are we poor sisters imposed upon!’
‘I want also to sponsor your Peter at White’s, ma’am,’ Sir Anthony said, smiling. ‘Thus still more are you imposed upon.’
‘Oh, these clubs! This means I shall see nothing of the creature.’ Miss Merriot put up her fan to hide her face from Sir Anthony, in feigned indignation. So, at least, it appeared, but behind the fan that mobile eyebrow flew up for Prudence’s benefit, and the blue eyes brimmed with laughter. It was done in a trice, and the fan shut again with a snap. ‘Your kindness to Peter is much greater than your consideration for his poor sister, sir!’ she rallied Fanshawe.
‘Why, as to that I offer my apologies, ma’am. I stand somewhat in both your debts.’
‘Ah, let’s have done with that!’ Prudence said quickly. ‘There is no debt that I know of.’
‘Well, let us say that what you are pleased to call my kindness is naught but a seal to what I hope is a friendship.’
‘I’m honoured to have it so, sir,’ Prudence said, and felt the colour rise, to her annoyance.
The large gentleman had a mind to befriend her, and there was no help for it. And was one glad of it, or sorry? There was apparently no answer to the riddle.
Seven
A Taste of a Large Gentleman’s Temper
The morning’s ride sowed promising seeds of a new friendship. The Honourable Charles had an engaging frankness; he kept no secrets from those admitted into the circle of his acquaintance, and it seemed probable that his life might be an open book for Prudence to read if she had a mind that way. With admirable dexterity she steered all talk into channels of her own choosing. She was certainly not squeamish, but half an hour spent in the company of the expansive Mr Belfort was enough to show that the greater part of his reminiscences was calculated to bring a blush to maiden cheeks. Prudence maintained an even complexion, and had sense enough to think none the worse of him for all his lurid confidences. Sure, they were not meant for a lady’s ears.