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sister. ‘The creature must needs play the mother to me, madam.’
    ‘Madam, behold my little mentor!’ Prudence retorted. ‘Give you my word I have my scoldings from him, and not the old gentleman. ’Tis a waspish tongue, egad.’
    Talk ran a while then on the vagaries of Mr Colney. My lady must needs speculate upon his whereabouts; his dutiful children could not permit themselves to indulge in the optimism of hazarding a guess. Sufficient for them that he had named London as a meeting-place: wherefore behold them here, in all obedience.
    My lady professed alarm; Prudence cracked a nut. My lady was urgent to know the nature of Mr Colney’s business in the late rebellion; her queries were met by a humorous quirk of the eyebrow, and a half shrug of the shoulder.
Eh bien
then, might he with safety show himself in town? Had he not, in effect, been conspicuous up there in the North?
    It was Robin who said with a laugh:—‘Lud, ma’am, and did you ever know him when he was not conspicuous? It has been dark intrigue for him, here and there—a go-between, as I take it. What does one know of him? Nothing! But I’d wager my last guinea he has his tracks well covered.’
    My lady reflected on the likelihood of this, but it was evident that she continued to feel some trepidation at the thought of
ce cher
Robert coming to London, which was, in fact, the lion’s den.
    Prudence smiled. ‘My lady, he has very often informed us that I contrive might well stand for his motto, and, faith, I believe him.’
    ‘I contrive,’ mused my lady. ‘Yes, that is Robert. But it is the motto of the Tremaines.’
    ‘The more like the old gentleman to appropriate it,’ said Robin. ‘Who are the Tremaines?’
    ‘Oh, one of your old families. They are Viscounts of Barham these many years, you must know. The last one died some few months since, and the new one is only some cousin, I think, of name Rensley.’
    ‘Then our poor papa can have his motto,’ said Prudence.
    She had a mind to learn something of Sir Anthony Fanshawe, and drew the trend of the talk that way. There was no word spoken of Miss Letty and her indiscretion: Sir Anthony had been chance-met on the road—also one Mr Markham.
    My lady wrinkled her brow at the last name; it was plain she did not count Mr Markham amongst her friends. More closely questioned, she said that he was a man of
mauvais ton
,
a great gambler, and received at an astonishing number of houses, for no reason that she could perceive unless it were his friendship with my Lord Barham.
    ‘There you have two people of no great breeding,’ ran her peroration. ‘Have naught to do with either, my children. Both are counted dangerous, and both are rogues. Of that I am convinced.’
    ‘And Sir Anthony?’ said Robin, with a quizzical look at his sister. ‘Is that another rogue?’
    My lady found this infinitely amusing. ‘The poor Sir Tony! To be sure, a very proper gentleman—well-born, rich, handsome—but fie! of an impenetrability. Ah, you English!’ She shook her head over the stolidity of the race.
    ‘He displays already a most fatherly interest in my little sister, ma’am,’ Robin said solemnly. ‘We are like to be undone by it.’
    ‘Robin must have his jest, my lady.’ Prudence was unruffled. ‘I believe I am not a novice in the art of simulation. I don’t fear Sir Anthony’s detection.’
    ‘My dear, he does not see a yard before his own nose, that one,’ my lady assured her. ‘Fear nothing from him. You will meet him at my rout to-morrow. All the world comes.’
    There was no more talk then of Sir Anthony, but he came again into Prudence’s mind that night when she made ready to go to bed. She came out of her coat—not without difficulty, for it was of excellent tailoring, and fitted tightly across her shoulders—and stood for a while before the long mirror, seriously surveying herself. A fine straight figure she made: there could be no gainsaying it, but she found herself