“Plague take your ifs, Fan!” said Rupert. “Will you have claret, Tony?”
“Burgundy, I thank you, scamp.”
“I have ceased to answer the letters,” said Fanny. “People have been very kind, but in truth I cannot hope to reply to all.”
“Kind?” snorted Rupert. “Damned inquisitive, is what I say!”
“Armand, what becomes of de Valmé—I mean Bonnard?”
Armand laid down his fork.
“If you will believe me, the boy is almost glad!” he said. “He understood not in the least what was toward at Madame du Deffand’s that night, but when I explained the matter to him—what do you think he said?”
“We don’t know,” said Rupert. “We’ve enough mystery without you trying to start a fresh one, stap me if we’ve not!”
“Rupert!” My lady frowned upon him. “Rude boy!”
“He said,” Armand went on, “‘At last, at last I may have a farm!’” He looked round impressively. “Did you ever hear the like of it?”
“Never,” said Davenant gravely. “And so?”
“I shall buy him a farm, of course, and settle money upon him. I suggested that he might wish to remain in Paris, and assured him of my protection, but no! He hates town-life, if you please!”
“Mad,” said Rupert with conviction.
Merivale started up.
“Listen!” he said sharply.
Outside in the hall was some stir, as of an arrival. Those in the dining-room sprang up, looking half shamefacedly at each other.
“A—a caller,” Fanny said. “I’m sure it’s only——”
The door was flung open, and his Grace of Avon stood upon the threshold, booted and spurred, and great-coated. Beside him, her hand in his, was Léonie, flushed and radiant. She had shed her cloak and hat, and her bright curls were tumbled.
There was an outcry. Fanny ran forward, exclaiming incoherently; Rupert waved his napkin over his head.
“What did I tell you?” he shouted. “Mademoiselle de Saint-Vire!”
His Grace raised one white hand, holding them in check. A curiously proud smile hovered about his mouth.
“No, Rupert,” he said, and bowed slightly. “I have the honour to present to you all—my Duchess.”
“Thunder an’ turf!” gasped Rupert, and surged forward.
Fanny reached Léonie first.
“Oh, my sweet life! I am so glad—I can hardly believe—Where did you find her, Justin? Silly, silly child! We have been in such a taking—Kiss me again, my love!”
Rupert pushed her aside.
“Hey, you little madcap!” he said, and kissed her soundly. “What a sister you have given me, Justin! I knew you’d find her! But married already, egad! It beats all, so it does!”
Merivale thrust him away.
“My dear little Léonie!” he said. “Justin, I felicitate you!”
Then Marling and Davenant in their turn pushed forward. Armand grasped Avon’s hand.
“And my permission?” he asked with mock dignity.
Avon snapped his fingers.
“So much for your permission, my dear Armand,” he said, and looked across at Léonie, surrounded by the vociferous family.
“Where was she?” Armand tugged at his sleeve.
His Grace was still watching Léonie.
“Where was she? Where I had expected her to be. In Anjou, with the Curé I spoke of,” he said. “Well, Fanny? Have I your approval?”
She embraced him.
“My dear, ’tis what I planned for you months ago! But to be married thus secretly when I had dreamed of a truly magnificent wedding! It’s too bad, I declare! Dear, dear child! I could weep for joy!”
A hush fell. In the doorway, shrinking, Madame de Saint-Vire stood, her eyes fixed on Léonie. There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence. Then Léonie went forward, and put out her hand with pretty hesitancy.
“Ma—mčre?” she said.
Madame gave a shattering sob, and clung to her. Léonie put an arm about her waist, and led her quietly out.
Fanny’s handkerchief appeared.
“The dear, sweet child!” she said huskily.
Davenant took Avon’s hand, and wrung it.
“Justin, I cannot find words to tell you how glad I am!”
“My dear Hugh, this is most unexpected,” drawled his Grace. “I made sure of a despondent head-shake.”
Hugh laughed.
“No, no, my friend, not this time! You have learned to love another better than yourself at last, and I believe that you will make your Duchess a good husband.”
“It is mine intention,” said his Grace, and struggled out of his coat. There was a tinge of colour in his cheeks, but he put up his glass in the old manner, and surveyed the room. “My house seems to be remarkably full of people,” he observed. “Is it possible we were expected?”
“Expected?” echoed Rupert. “Stap me, but that’s rich! We’ve done naught but expect you for the past ten days, I’ll have you know! It’s very well for you to go careering off to Anjou, but it’s mighty poor sport for us. What with Armand hopping in and out like a jack-in-the-box, and Madame upstairs with the vapours, and half Paris forcing its way in to nose out the mystery, the house is a veritable ants’ nest. I believe Merivale still sleeps with de Châtelet, for I don’t see him here at breakfast, thank the Lord!”
“What I want to know,” said Merivale, ignoring his lordship, “is this: did you journey all the way to Anjou in that preposterous gold dress?”
“Faith, he must have startled the country-side!” chuckled Rupert.
“No, my friends, no,” sighed his Grace. “I changed it for more sober garments at the first halt. Armand, is all well?”
“Completely, Justin! My sister wrote her confession as soon as she was able, and mine erstwhile nephew is to have a farm, and retire from Society. I owe you a debt of gratitude which I can never hope to repay.”
His Grace poured himself out a glass of burgundy.
“I have taken payment, my dear, in the person of your niece,” he said, and smiled.
Then Léonie came in, and went at once to Avon’s side.
“My mother desires to be left alone,” she said gravely. The sparkle came into her eyes again. “Oh, I am so very pleased to see you all again!”
Rupert nudged Davenant.
“Look at Justin’s face!” he whispered. “Did you ever see aught to equal the pride of him? Léonie, I’m devilish hungry, and with your permission I’ll go on with my capon.”
“I am very hungry too,” she nodded. “Madame, you have no idea how nice it is to be a married lady!”
“Oh, have I not indeed?” cried my lady. “How am I to take that?” She led Léonie to her own place at the foot of the table. “Sit down, my love!”
“Madame, that is where you sit!” Léonie said.
“My sweet, I am a guest in your house now,” said Fanny, and curtsied.
Léonie looked at Avon inquiringly.
“Yes, infant. Sit down.”
“Voyons, I feel very important!” Léonie said, settling herself in the high-backed chair. “Rupert shall sit beside me on one side, and—and——” she debated. “M. de Saint—I mean, my uncle, on the other.”
“Very prettily done, my dear,” nodded her ladyship, and went to a seat on Avon’s right.
“And since I am now a Duchess,” said Léonie, twinkling, “Rupert must treat me with respect, n’est-ce pas, Monseigneur?”
Avon smiled at her across the table.
“You have only to say the word, mignonne, and he shall be cast forth.”
“Respect be damned!” said Rupert. “I’ll have you remember you’re my sister now, child! Lord, where are my wits!” He sprang up, wine-glass in hand. “I give you all a toast!” he said. “The Duchess of Avon!”