Miss Challoner blushed scarlet, felt herself quite unable to meet Mr Comyn’s look of mild surprise, and fled.
Ten minutes later, one of the inn-servants scratched at Vidal’s door, and upon being bidden to come in, presented his lordship with a note.
Vidal was seated before the dressing-table. He took the note and read in Miss Challoner’s handwriting: ‘Pray, my lord, be careful. There is an Englishman here, of the name of Comyn. I fear I have been indiscreet, but I was obliged to speak with him, and while I was still in his company, your message was delivered to me, so that I was quite undone.’
My lord swore softly and appeared to meditate for a moment. Then he tore up the note and resumed his toilet. In a few minutes he was ready, and made his way downstairs to the coffee-room. Mr Comyn was standing by the window, consulting his watch. He looked up as the Marquis came in, and exclaimed: ‘Lord Vidal! So it was –’ He broke off, and coughed.
‘It was,’ said his lordship. ‘But why in the fiend’s name you must needs come to Dieppe is a matter passing my comprehension.’
‘I cannot conceive why it should pass your comprehension, sir,’ replied Mr Comyn. ‘Considering that it was yourself who told me to journey to France.’
‘I seem to spend my time telling people to do things I have not the smallest desire they should do,’ said the Marquis bitterly. ‘Mr Comyn, you have, I think, met a lady in this inn.’
‘I have, sir.’
The Marquis said: ‘Contrive to forget it.’
‘Certainly,’ said Mr Comyn, bowing.
Vidal smiled. ‘Egad, I’m beginning to like you, my prospective relative. That lady is shortly to become my wife.’
‘You surprise me,’ said Mr Comyn truthfully.
‘I am sure I do. Permit me to inform you that her presence in this inn is due, not to her own choice, but to my forcible abduction of her. She is a lady of unimpeachable virtue, and I shall be obliged if you will forget that you have ever seen her in my company.’
‘Sir,’ said Mr Comyn, a stickler for exactitude, ‘I never have seen her in your company, and I have therefore nothing to forget.’
‘You’re a good fellow,’ said his lordship, with unusual kindness. ‘I’ll trust you.’ He sat himself down in the window, and favoured Mr Comyn with a brief, unvarnished account of the happenings of the past two days.
Mr Comyn listened with grave attention, and remarked at the end that it was an edifying story. He added that he was honoured by his lordship’s confidence, and begged to proffer his felicitations upon his approaching nuptials.
‘Oh, go to the devil!’ snapped the Marquis, exasperated.
Nine
His lordship’s remarks to Miss Challoner on the impropriety and folly of addressing strangers in French inns were caustic and denunciatory, but had no visible effect upon the lady. She continued to eat her dinner, lending no more than a polite ear to his homily, and appeared to consider Mr Comyn’s inability to speak French an adequate excuse. My lord speedily undeceived her. ‘You do not seem to me to comprehend the extreme delicacy of your situation,’ he said.
Miss Challoner subjected a dish of sweetmeats to close inspection, and finally selected the best of them. ‘I do,’ she replied. ‘I have had plenty of time for reflection, my lord, and I cannot but realise that I’ve not a shred of reputation left to me.’
The Marquis laughed. ‘You’re mighty cool over it, ma’am.’
‘You should be glad of that,’ Miss Challoner said serenely. ‘The task of conveying to Paris a female suffering from a series of strong hysterics would, I imagine, be vastly distasteful to you.’
‘It would,’ said the Marquis with conviction.
‘Moreover,’ pursued Miss Challoner, once more inspecting the dish of sweetmeats, ‘I cannot discover that a display of agitation on my part would achieve much beyond my own exhaustion and your annoyance.’ She bit into a sugar plum. ‘Also,’ she said meditatively, ‘you have upon several occasions threatened me with extreme violence, so that I should be excessively fearful of the results of driving you to distraction.’
The Marquis brought his open hand down upon the table, and the glasses jumped. ‘Don’t lie!’ he said. ‘You are not in the least afraid of what I may do to you! Are you?’
‘Not at the moment, sir,’ she admitted. ‘But when you have broached your second bottle, I own to some qualms.’
‘Let me inform you, ma’am, that I am not considered dangerous until the third bottle.’
Miss Challoner looked at him with a faint smile. ‘My lord,’ she said frankly, ‘you become dangerous immediately your will is crossed. I find you spoiled, impetuous, and shockingly overbearing.’
‘Thank you,’ said his lordship. ‘Perhaps you prefer the sedate demeanour of your friend Mr Comyn?’
‘He seemed to be a gentleman of ordinary propriety, certainly,’ concurred Miss Challoner.