ONE

There was only one occupant of the coach, a gentleman who sprawled very much at his ease, with his legs stretched out before him, and his hands dug deep in the capacious pockets of his greatcoat. While the coach rattled over the cobbled streets of the town, the light from an occasional lantern or flambeau momentarily lit the interior of the vehicle and made a diamond pin or a pair of very large shoe-buckles flash, but since the gentleman lounging in the coach wore his gold-edged hat tilted low over his eyes, his face remained in shadow.

The coach was traveling fast, too fast for safety in a London street, and it soon drew out of the town, past the turnpike, on to Hounslow Heath. A faint moonlight showed the road to the coachman on the box, but so dimly that the groom beside him, who had been restive since the carriage drew out of St. James's, gasped presently, as though he could no longer keep back the words: 'Lord! you'll overturn us! It's a wicked pace!'

The only answer vouchsafed was a shrug, and a somewhat derisive laugh. The coach swayed precariously over a rough stretch of ground, and the groom, clutching the seat with both hands, said angrily: 'You're mad! D'you think the devil's on your heels, man? Doesn't he care? Or is he drunk?' The backward jerk of his head seemed to indicate that he was speaking of the man inside the coach.

'When you've been in his service a week you won't call this a wicked pace,' replied the coachman. 'When Cullen travels, he travels swift, d'ye see?'

'He's drunk - three parts asleep!' the groom said.

'Not he.'

Yet the man inside the coach might well have been asleep for all the sign of life he gave. His long body swayed easily with the lurch of the coach, his chin was sunk in the folds of his cravat, and not even the worst bumps in the road had the effect of making him so much as grasp the strap that swung beside him. His hands remained buried in his pockets, remained so even when a shot rang out and the vehicle came to a plunging standstill. But apparently he was awake, for he raised his head, yawning, and leaning it back against the cushions turned it slightly towards the off-window.

There was a good deal of commotion outside; a rough voice was raised; the coachman was cursing the groom for his tardiness in firing the heavy blunderbuss in his charge; and the horses were kicking and rearing.

Someone rode up to the door of the coach and thrust in the muzzle of a big pistol. The moonlight cast a head in silhouette, and a voice said: 'Hand over the pretties, my hearty!'

It did not seem as though the man inside the coach moved, but a gun spoke sharply, and a stabbing point of flame flashed in the darkness. The head and shoulders at the window vanished; there was a sound of a fall, of trampling hooves, of a startled shout, and the belated explosion of the blunderbuss.

The man in the coach drew his right hand out of his pocket at last. There was an elegant silver-mounted pistol in it, still smoking. The gentleman threw it on to the seat beside him, and crushed the charred and smoldering portion of his greatcoat between very long white fingers.

The door of the coach was pulled open, and the coachman jumped up on the the hastily let-down step. The lantern he held lit up the interior, and shone full into the face of the lounging man. It was a surprisingly young face, fair and extremely handsome, the curious vividness overlaid by an expression of restless boredom.

'Well?' said the gentleman coldly.

'Highwaymen, my lord. The new man being unused, so to say, to such doings, was late with the blunderbuss. There was three of them. They've made off - two of them, that is.'

'Well?' said the gentleman again.

The coachman seemed rather discomposed. 'You've killed the other, my lord.'

'Certainly,' said the gentleman. 'But I presume you have not opened the door to inform me of that.'

'Well, my lord - shan't we - do I - his brains are lying in the road, my lord. Do we lave him - like that?'

'My good fellow, are you suggesting that I should carry a footpad's corpse to my Lady Clearwater's drum?'

'No, my lord,' the coachman said hesitatingly. 'Then - then - shall I drive on?'

'Of course drive on,' said the gentleman, faintly surprised.

'Very good, my lord,' the coachman said, and shut the door.

The groom on the box was still clasping the blunderbuss, and staring fascinated at the tumbled figure in the road. When the coachman climbed up on to the box again, and gathered the reins in his hands, he said: Gawd, ain't you going to do anything?'

'There isn't anything you can do for him,' replied the other grimly.

'His head's almost shot off!' shuddered the groom.

The equipage began to move forward. 'Hold your tongue, can't you? He's dead, and that's all there is to it.'

The groom licked his dry lips. 'But don't his lordship know?"

'Of course he knows. He don't make mistakes, not with the pistols.'

The groom drew a deep breath, thinking still of the dead man left to wallow in blood. 'How old is he?' he blurted out presently.

''Twenty-four all but a month or two.'

'Twenty-four! and shoots his man and leaves the corpse as cool as you please! My Gawd!'

He did not speak again until the coach had arrived at its destination, and then he seemed to be so lost in meditation that the coachman had to nudge him sharply. He roused himself then jumped off the box to open the coach door. As his master stepped languidly down, he looked covertly at him, trying to see some sign of agitation in his face. There was none. His lordship sauntered up the steps to the stone porch, and passed into the lighted hall.

'My Gawd!' said the groom again.

Inside the house two lackeys hovered about the late-comer to take his hat and coat.

There was another gentleman in the hall, just about to go up the wide stairway to the saloon. He was good-looking in a rather florid style, with very heavily-arched brows and and a roving eye. His dress proclaimed the Macaroni, for he wore a short coat decorated with frog-buttons, fine striped breeches with bunches of strings at the knee, and a waistcoat hardly reaching below the waist. The frills of his shirt front stuck out at the top, and instead of the cravat, he displayed a very full handkerchief tied in a bow under his chin. On his head he wore an amazingly tall ladder-toupet, dusted with blue hair powder, and he carried in his hand a long tasselled cane.

He turned as my lord entered, and when he saw who it was, came across the hall. 'I hoped I was the last,' he complained. He raised his quizzing-glass, and through it peered at the hole in his lordship's coat. 'My dear Cullen!' he said, shocked. "My dear fellow! Ecod, my lord, your coat!'

One of the lackeys had it over his arm. My lord shook out his Dresden ruffles, but carelessly as though it mattered very little to him to be point-de-vice. 'Well, James, what of my coat?' he asked.

Mr Coven achieved a shudder. 'There's a damned hole in it, Cullen,' he protested. He moved forward and very gingerly lifted the fold of the garment. 'And a damned smell of powder, Cullen,' he said. 'You've been shooting someone.'

His lordship leaned against the bannister, and opened his snuff-box. 'Some scum of a footpad only.' he said.

Mr Coven abandoned his affectations for the moment. 'Kill him, Edward?'

'Of course,' said my lord.

Mr Coven grinned. 'What have you done with the corpse, my boy?'

'Done with it?' said his lordship with a touch of impatience. 'Nothing. What should I do with a corpse?'

Mr Coven rubbed his chin. 'Devil take me if I know,' he said after some thought. 'But you can't leave a corpse on the road, Edward. People might see it on the way back to town. Ladies won't like it.'

His lordship had raised a pinch of snuff to one classic nostril, but he paused before he sniffed. 'I hadn't thought of that,' he admitted. A gleam, possibly of amusement, stole into his eyes. He glanced at the lackey who still held his damaged greatcoat. 'There is a corpse somewhere on the road to town. Mr Coven does not wish it there. Remove it!'

The lackey was far too well trained to display emotion, but he was a little shaken. 'Yes, my lord,' he said. 'What does your lordship want done with it, if you please?'

'I have no idea,' said his lordship. 'James, what do you want done with it?'

'Egad, what is to be done with a corpse in the middle of Hounslow Heath?' demanded Mr Coven. 'I've a notion it should be delivered to a constable.'

'You hear?' said his lordship. 'The corpse must be conveyed to town.'

'Bow Street,' interjected Mr Coven.

'To Bow Street - with the compliments of Mr Coven.'

'No, damme, I don't take the credit for it, Edward. Compliments of the Marquis of Cullen, my man.'

The lackey swallowed something in his throat, and said with palpable effort: 'It shall be attended to, sir.'

Mr Coven looked at the Marquis. 'I don't see what else we can do, Edward, do you?'

'We seem to have been put to a vast deal of inconvenience already,' replied the Marquis, dusting his sleeve with a very fine handkerchief. 'I don't propose to bother my head further in the matter.'

'The we may as well go upstairs,' said Mr Coven.

'I await your pleasure, my dear James,' returned his lordship, and began leisurely to mount the shallow stairs.

Mr Coven fell in beside him, drawing an elegant brisé fan from his pocket. He opened it carefully, and held for his friend to see. 'Vernis Martin,' he said.

His lordship glanced casually down at it. 'Very pretty,' he replied. 'Chassereau, I suppose.'

'Quite right,' Mr Coven said, waving it gently to and fro. 'Subject Télémaque, in ivory.'

They passed round the bend in the stairway. Down in the hall the two lackeys looked at one another. 'Corpses one moment, fans the next,' said the man who held Cullen's coat. 'There's the Quality for you!'

The episode of the corpse had by this time apparently faded from Lord Cullen's mind, but Mr Coven, thinking it a very good tale, spoke of it to at least three people, who repeated it to others. It came in due corse to the ears of Lady Mary Brandon, who, in company with her son Seth and her daughter Alice, was present at the drum.

Lady Mary had been a widow for a number of years, and the polite world had ceased to predict a second marriage for her. Flighty she had always been, but her affection for the late Mr Rupert Brandon had been a very real thing. Her period of mourning had lasted a full year, and when she reappeared in society it was quite a long time before she had spirits to amuse herself with even the mildest flirtation. Now, with a daughter of marriageable age, she was becoming quite matronly, and had taken to arraying herself in purples and greys, and to wearing on her exceedingly elaborate coiffure turbans that spoke the dowager.

She was talking to an old friend, one William Black, when she overheard the story of her nephew's latest exploit, and she at once broke off her own conversation to exclaim: 'That abominable boy! I vow and declare I never go anywhere but what I hear of him. And never any good, William. Never!'

William Black's eyes travelled across the room to where the Marquis was standing, and dwelled rather thoughtfully on that arrogant figure. He did not say anything for a moment, and Lady Mary rattled on.

'I am sure I have not the least objection to him shooting a highwayman - my dear William, do but look at that odd gown! What a figure of fun - oh, it is Lady Lauren Mallory! Well, small wonder. She never could dress, and really she is become so strange of late, people say she is growing absolutely English. Yes, William, I heard it from Mr Aro, and he vowed she was mad - what was I saying? Cullen! Oh, yes, well, if he must shoot highwaymen, it's very well, but to leave the poor man dead on the road - though I make no doubt he would have done the same to Cullen, for I believe they are horribly callous, these fellows - but that's neither here nor there. Cullen had no right to leave him. Now people will say that he is wickedly blood-thirsty, or something disagreeable, and it is quite true, only one does not want the whole world to say so.' She drew a long breath. 'And Esme,' she said - 'and you know, William, I am very fond of dear Esme - Esme will laugh, and say that her méchant Edward is dreadfully thoughtless. Thoughtless!'

Black smiled. 'I make no doubt she will,' he agreed.

'As for Carlisle, I truly think he does not care at all what happens to Edward.'

'After all,' William said slowly, 'Edward is so very like him.'

Lady Mary shut her fan with a snap. 'If you are minded to be unkind about my poor Carlisle, William, I warn you I shall not listen. Lud, I am sure he has been a perfect paragon ever since he married Esme. I know he is monstrous disagreeable, and no one was ever more provoking, unless it be Emmett, who, by the way, encourages Edward Edward in every sort of excess, just as one would expect - but I'll stake my reputation Carlisle was never such a - yes, William, such a devil as Cullen. Why, they call him Devil's Cub! And if you are going to tell me that is because he is Carlisle's son, all I can say is that you are in a very teasing mood, and it's no such thing.'

'He is very young, Mary,' William said, still watching the Marquis across the room.

'That makes it worse,' declared her ladyship. 'Oh, my dear Lady Weber, I wondered whether I would see you to-night! I protest, it's an age since I had a talk with you... Odious woman, and as for her daughter, you may say what you choose, William, but the girl squints! Where was I? Oh, Cullen, of course! Young? Yes, William, I marvel that you should find that an excuse for him. The poor Newtons had trouble enough with their son, not but what I consider Newton was entirely to blame - but I never heard that James Coven ever did anything worse than lose a fortune at gaming, which is a thing no one could blame in him. It is very different with Cullen. From the day he left Eton he has been outrageous, and I make no doubt he was so in the nursery. It is not only his duels, William - my dear, do you know he is considered positively deadly with the pistols? Seth tells me they say in the clubs that it makes no odds to the Devil's Cub whether he is drunk or sober, he can still pick out a playing card on the wall. He did that at White's once, and there was the most horrible scandal, for of course he was in his cups, and only fancy, William, how angry all the people like old Aro and Mr Marcus must have been! I wish I had seen it!'

'I did see it,' said William. 'A silly boy's trick, no more.'

'I dare say, but it was no boy's trick to kill young Yorkie. A pretty to-do there was over that. But as I say, it is not only his duels. He plays high - well, so do we all, and he is a true Mason - and he drinks too much. No one ever saw Carlisle in his cups that I ever heard of, William. And worse - worse than all -' she stopped and made a gesture with her fan. 'Opera dancers,' she said darkly.

Black smiled. 'Well, Mary, I deplore it as much as you do, but i believe you cannot say that no one ever saw Carlisle -'

He was interrupted. 'I am very fond of Carlisle,' said Lady Mary tartly, 'but I never pretended to approve of his conduct. And with all his faults Carlisle was always bon ton. It is no such thing with Cullen. If he were my son, I should never have consented to let him live anywhere but under my roof. My own dear Seth scarce leaves my side.'

William bowed. 'I know you are very fortunate in your son, Mary,' he said.

She sighed. 'Indeed, he is prodigiously like his poor papa.'

William made no reply to this but merely bowed again. Knowing her ladyship as he did, he was perfectly well aware that her son's staid disposition was something of a disappointment to her.

'I am sure,' said Lady Mary, with a touch of defiance, 'that if I heard of my Seth holding - holding orgies with all the wildest young rakes in town I should die of mortification.' He frowned. 'Orgies, Mary?'

'Orgies, William. Pray do not ask more.'

Black had heard a good many stories concerning the doing of Cullen's particular set, and bearing in mind what these stories were, he was somewhat surprised that they should have come to Lady Mary's ears. From her expression of outraged virtue he inferred that she really had heard some of the worst tales. He wondered whether Seth Brandon had been her informant, and reflected that in spite of his excesses one could not but like the Marquis better than his impeccable cousin.

At that moment Mr Seth Brandon came across the room towards his mother. He was a good-looking young man of rather stocky build, dressed very neatly in Spanish-brown velvet. He was in his thirteenth year, but the staidness of his demeanor made him appear older. He greeted Black with a bow and a grave smile, and had begun to inquire politely after the older man's health, when his mother interrupted him.

'Pray, Seth, where is your sister? I was put out to see that young Whitlock present here to-night. I do trust you have not let her slip off with him?'

'No,' Seth said. 'She is with Cullen.'

'Oh!' A curiously thoughtful expression came into her ladyship's face. 'Well, I make no doubt they were glad to see each other.'

'I don't know,' Seth said painstakingly. 'Alice cried out: "Why, my dear Edward, you here?" or some such thing, and Cullen said: "Good God! Have I stumbled on a family gathering?"'

'That is just his way,' Lady Mary assured him. She turned her limpid gaze upon Black. 'Cullen has a great kindness for his cousin, you know, William.'

Black did not know it, but he was perfectly well aware of Lady Mary's ambition. Whatever might be the imperfections of Cullen's character, he was one of the biggest prizes of the matrimonial market, and for years her ladyship had cherished hopes which she fondly believed to be secret.

Seth seemed disposed to argue the matter. 'For my part I do not believe that Cullen cares a fig for Alice,' he said. 'And as for her, I very much fear this Jasper Whitlock has taken her fancy to an alarming degree.'

How can you be so teasing, Seth?' Mary demanded petulantly. 'You know very well she is nothing but a child, and I am sure no though of - of marriage, or love, or any such folly has entered her head. And if it had, it is no great matter, and when she has been in Paris a week, she will have forgotten the young man's very existence.'

'Paris?' said William, foreseeing that Seth was going to try and convince his mother for her own good. 'Is Alice going to Paris?'

'Why, yes, William. Have you forgotten that my dear mamma was a Frenchwoman? I am sure it is no matter for wonder that the child should visit her French relatives. They are quite wild to know her, so Seth is to take her next week. I don't doubt they will make so much rout with her she will hardly wish to come home again.'

'But I do not feel at all hopeful that it will answer the purpose,' said Seth heavily.

'Pray, Seth, do not be so provoking!' implored Lady Mary, somewhat tartly. 'You make it sound as though I were one of those odious scheming females whom I detest.'

William thought it time to withdraw, and tactfully did so, leaving mother and son to argue in comfort.

Meanwhile, Miss Alice Brandon, a charming brunette dressed in blue lustring with spangled shoes, and her close cropped curls arranged á la Gorgonne, had dragged her cousin into one of the adjoining saloons. 'You are the very person I wished to see!' se informed him.

The Marquis said with conspicuous lack of gallantry: 'If you want me to do something for you, Alice, I warn you I never do anything for anybody.'

Miss Brandon opened her blue eyes very wide. 'Not even for me, Edward?' she said soulfully.

His lordship remained unmoved. 'No,' he replied.

Miss Brandon sighed and shook her head. 'You are horridly disobliging, you know. It quite decides me not to marry you.'

'I hoped it might,' said his lordship calmly.

Miss Brandon made an effort to look affronted, but only succeeded in giggling. 'You needn't be afraid. I am going to marry someone quite different,' she said.

His lordship evinced signs of faint interest at that. 'Are you?' he enquired. 'Does my aunt know?'

'You may be very wicked, and quite hatefully rude,' said Miss Brandon, 'but I will say one thing for you, Edward: you do not need to have things explained to you like Seth. Mamma does not mean me to marry him, and that is why I am to be packed off to France next week.'

'Who is "he"? Ought I to know?' inquired the marquis.

'I don't suppose you know him. He is not at all the sort of person who would know your set,' said Miss Brandon severely.

'Ah, then I was right,' retorted my lord. 'You are contemplating a mésalliance.'

Miss Brandon stiffened in every line of her small figure. 'It's no such thing! He may not be a brilliant match, or have a title, but all the men I have met who are brilliant matches are just like you, and would make the most horrid husbands.'

'You may as well let me know the worst,' said my lord. 'If you think it would annoy Aunt Mary, I'll do what I can for you.'

She clasped both hands on his arm. 'Dear, dear Edward! I knew you would! It is Jasper Whitlock.'

'And who,' said the Marquis, 'might he be?'

'He comes from Gloucestershire - or is it Somerset? Well, it doesn't signify - and his papa is Sir Malcolm Whitlock, and it is all perfectly respectable, as dear Aunt Esme would say, for they have always lived there, and there is an estate, though not very large, I believe, and Jasper is the eldest son, and he was at Cambridge, and this is his first stay in town, and Lord Caius is his sponsor, so you see it is not a mésalliance at all.'

'I don't,' said his lordship. 'You may as well give up the notion, my dear. They'll never let you throw yourself away on this nobody.'

'Edward,' said Miss Brandon with dangerous quiet.

My lord looked lazily down at her.

'I just want you to know that my mind is made up,' she said, giving him back look for look. 'So that it is no use to talk to me like that.'

'Very well,' said my lord.

'And you will make a push to help us, won't you, dearest Edward?'

'Oh, certainly, child. I will tell Aunt Mary that the alliance has my full approval.'

'You are quite abominable,' said his cousin. 'I know you dislike of all things to bestir yourself, but recollect, my lord, if once I am wed you need not be afraid anymore that mamma will make you marry me.'

'I am not in the least afraid of that,' replied his lordship.

'I declare it would serve you right if I did marry you!' cried Miss Brandon indignantly. 'You are being quite atrocious and all I want to to do is to write a letter to Tante Elizabeth in Paris!'

His lordship's attention seemed to have wandered, but at this be brought his gaze back from the contemplation of a ripe blonde who was trying to appear unconscious of his scrutiny, and looked down into Miss Brandon's face.

'Why?' he asked.

'It's perfectly plain, Edward, I should have thought. Tante Elizabeth so dotes on you she will do whatever you wish, and if you were to solicit her kindness for a friend of yours about to make his début in paris -'

'Oh, that's it, is it?' said the Marquis. 'Much good will a letter from me avail you if my respected Aunt Mary has already warned Tante against your nobody.'

'She won't do that,' Miss Brandon replied confidently. 'And he is not a nobody. She has no notion, you see, that Jasper means to follow me to Paris. So you will write, will you not, Edward?'

'No, certainly not,' said my lord. 'I've never set eyes on this fellow.'

'I knew you would say something disagreeable like that,' said Miss Brandon, unperturbed, 'So I told Jasper to be ready.' She turned her head and made a gesture with her fan, rather in the manner of a sorceress about to conjure up visions. In response to the signal a young man who had been watching her anxiously disengaged himself from a knot of persons near the door, and came towards her.

He was not so tall as Cullen, and of a very different ton. From his moderate-sized pigeon's-wing wig to his low-heeled black shoes, there did not seem to be a hair or a pin out of place. His dress was in the mode, but not designed to attract attention. He wore Lunardi lace at his throat and wrists, and a black solitaire adorned his cravat. Such unusual adjuncts to a gentleman's costume as quizzing-glass, fobs, and watches, he had altogether dispensed with, but he had a snuff-box in one hand, and wore a cameo-ring on one finger.

The Marquis watched his approach through his quizzing-glass. 'Lord!' he said. 'What's the matter with you, Al?'

Miss Brandon chose to ignore this. She sprang up as Mr Whitlock reached them, and laid her hand on his arm. 'Jasper, I have told my cousin all!' she said dramatically. 'This is my cousin, by the way. I dare say you know of him. He is very wicked and kills people in duels. Cullen, this is Jasper.'

His lordship had risen. 'You talk too much, Alice,' he drawled. His dark eyes held a distinct menace, but his cousin remained unabashed. He exchanged bows with Mr Whitlock. 'Sir, your most obedient.'

Mr Whitlock, who had blushed at his Alice's introduction, said that he was honored.

'Cullen is going to write my French aunt about you,' stated Miss Brandon blithely. 'She is really the only person in the family who is not shocked by him. Except me, of course.'

The Marquis caught her eye once more. Knowing that dangerous look of old, Miss Brandon capitulated. 'I won't say another word,' she promised. 'And you will write, will you not, dear Edward?'

Mr Whitlock said in his grave young voice: 'I think my Lord Cullen must require my credentials. My lord, though I am aware I must sound like a mere adventurer, I can assure you it is no such thing. My family is well known in the West of England, and my Lord Caius will speak for me at need.'

'Good God, sir! I am not the girl's guardian!' said his lordship. 'You had better address all this to her brother.'

Mr Whitlock and Miss Brandon exchanged rueful glances.

'Mr Brandon and Lady Mary can hardly be unaware of my estate, sir, but - but in short I cannot flatter myself that they look upon my suit with any favor.'

'Of course they don't,' agreed the Marquis. 'You'll have to elope with her.'

Mr Whitlock looked extremely taken aback. 'Elope, my lord!' he said.

'Or give the chit up,' replied his lordship.

'My lord,' said Mr Whitlock earnestly, 'I ask you to believe that in journeying to Paris, I have no such impropriety in mind. It was always my father's intention that I should visit France. Miss Brandon's going there but puts my own journey forward.'

'Yes,' said Alice thoughtfully, 'but for all that I'm not sure it wouldn't be a very good thing to do, Jasper. I must say, Cullen, you do take some prodigious clever notions into your head! I wonder I did not think of it myself.'

Mr Whitlock regarded her with a hint of sternness in his frank gaze. 'Alice - madam! You could not suppose that I would steal you away clandestinely? His lordship was jesting.'

'Oh no, indeed he wasn't. It is just the kind of thing he would do himself. It is no good being proper and respectable, Jasper; we may be forced to elope in the end. Unless -' She paused, and looked doubtfully up at Cullen. 'You don't suppose, do you, Edward, that my Uncle Carlisle could be induced to speak for us to mamma?'

My lord answered this without hesitation. 'Don't be a fool, Al.'

She sighed. 'No, I was afraid he would not. It is a vast pity, for mamma always does what Uncle Carlisle says.' She caught sight of a stocky figure at the far end of the room. 'There's Seth! You had best go away, Jasper, for it will not do at all for Seth to see you talking to my cousin.'

She watched him bow, and retreat, and turned enthusiastically to the Marquis. 'Is he not a delightful creature, Cullen?' she demanded.

My lord looked at her frowningly. 'Alice,' he said, 'do I understand that you prefer him as a husband to myself?'

'Infinitely,' Miss Brandon assured him.

'You have very bad taste, my girl,' said my lord calmly.

'Indeed, cousin! And may I ask whether you prefer that yellow-haired chit I saw you with at Vauxhall as a wife to me?' retorted Alice.

'Ill-judged, my dear. I do not contemplate marriage either with her or you. Nor am I at all certain which yellow-haired chit you mean.'

Miss Brandon prepared to depart. She swept a dignified curtsey, and said: 'I do not mix with the company you keep, dear cousin, so I cannot tell you her name.'

The Marquis bowed gracefully. 'I still live, dear Alice.'

'You are shameless and provoking,' Miss Brandon said crossly and left him.