“Pray, John, where is your sister? I was put out to see that young Comyn was present here to-night I do trust you have not let her slip off with him?”

“No,” John said. “She is with Vidal.”

“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,” John said painstakingly. “Juliana cried out: ‘Why, my dear Dominic, you here?’ or some such thing, and Vidal said: ‘Good God! Have I stumbled on a family gathering?’”

“That is just his way,” Lady Fanny assured him. She turned her limpid gaze upon Davenant. “Vidal has a great kindness for his cousin, you know, Hugh.”

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

John seemed disposed to argue the matter. “For my part I do not believe that Vidal cares a fig for Juliana,” he said. “And as for her, I very much fear this Frederick Comyn has taken her fancy to an alarming degree.”

“How can you be so teasing, John?” Fanny demanded petulantly. “You know very well she is nothing but a child, and I am sure no thought 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 Hugh, foreseeing that John was going to try and convince his mother for her own good. “Is Juliana going to Paris?”

“Why yes, Hugh. 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 John 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.”