Part 23 (2/2)
”How's the gout?” she asked.
”Better,” he replied, examining the offending finger.
”You're just lazy, I believe,” Let.i.tia observed reprovingly. ”The sooner we get down to Mandeleys the better.”
The Marquis glanced at a silver-framed calendar which stood upon the table. He had glanced at it about a hundred times during the last few days.
”A little country air,” he confessed, ”will be very agreeable. I think perhaps, too,” he went on, ”that I am inclined to be weary of London.
It is more of a city, after all, isn't it, for the bourgeois rich than for a penniless Marquis. Where did you get your mount from, dear?”
”Charlie lent me a hack,” she replied. ”I've had a perfectly delightful ride.”
”You have not yet arrived, I suppose,” her father went on, ”at any fixed matrimonial intentions with regard to Charlie?”
She shook her head a little dejectedly.
”It's so hard,” she confessed. ”I am dying to say 'yes,' especially, somehow, during the last few days, but somehow I can't. I think it must be his fault,” she added resentfully. ”He doesn't ask me properly.”
”You'll find some one will be taking him off your hands before long,”
her father warned her. ”Personally, I have no objection to find with the alliance.”
”Of course,” Let.i.tia complained, ”it's very clear what you are thinking of! You want your bachelor apartments in the Albany again, and the gay life. I really feel that it is my duty to remain a spinster and look after you.”
The Marquis smiled. Once more his eyes glanced towards the calendar.
”Better ask Charlie down to Mandeleys and settle it with him there,” he suggested.
”That's just what he wants,” she sighed. ”If we begin a house party there, though, think what a picnic it will be! And besides, Sylvia Laycey is sure to be somewhere about, and he'll probably fall in love with her again. I do wish I could make up my mind. What are you doing to-night, dad?”
”I am dining with Montavon,” her father replied, ”at the club. He has a party of four for whist.”
”Dear old things!” Let.i.tia murmured affectionately. ”I hope you have Sheffield plate candlesticks on the table. Why not go in fancy dress--one of those Georgian Court dresses, you know--black velvet knickerbockers, a sword and peruke! Much better let me give you a lesson at auction bridge.”
The Marquis s.h.i.+vered.
”You play the game?” he asked politely.
”I tried it as a means of subsistence,” Let.i.tia confessed, ”but my partners always did such amazing things that I found there was nothing in it. If you are really dining out, dad, I shall go to the play with Charlie.”
”Alone?”
”Don't be silly, dear,” Let.i.tia protested, flicking her whip.
”Remember what that wicked old lady wrote in her memoirs--'Balham requires a chaperon, but Grosvenor Square never.' I shall try and get used to him this evening. I may even have wonderful news for you in the morning.”
The Marquis took up his book again.
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