Mr. Fox fell in beside him, drawing an elegant brisé fan from his pocket. He opened it carefully, and held it 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. Fox said, waving it gently to and fro. “Subject, Télémaque, on 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 Vidal’s coat. “There’s the Quality for you!”

The episode of the corpse had by this time apparently faded from Lord Vidal’s mind, but Mr. Fox, thinking it a very good tale, spoke of it to at least three people, who repeated it to others. It came in due course to the ears of Lady Fanny Marling, who, in company with her son John, and her daughter Juliana, was present at the drum.

Lady Fanny 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. Edward Marling 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 Hugh Davenant, 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, Hugh. Never!”

Hugh Davenant’s grey 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 Fanny rattled on.