“You must know that all doors are open to the rich Mr Ravenscar—particularly such doors as this.”

“Make it plain, then, to your henchman, or you may have a brawl upon your doorstep.”

“Ah, Silas is too knowing a one! Only law-officers and their spies are refused admittance here, and he would smell one at sixty paces.”

“What a valuable acquisition he must be to you!”

“It would be impossible to imagine an existence without him. He was my father’s sergeant. I have known him from my cradle.”

“Your father was a military man?” said Mr Ravenscar, slightly raising his brows.

“Yes, at one time.”

“And then?”

“You are curious again, Mr Ravenscar?”

“Very.”

“He was a gamester. It runs in the blood, you observe.”

“That would account for your presence here, of course.”

“Oh, I have been familiar with gaming-houses from my childhood up! I can tell a Greek, or a Captain Sharp, within ten minutes of his entering the room; I could play the groom porter for you, or deal for a faro-bank; I can detect a bale of flat conquer deuces as quickly as you could yourself; and the man who can fuzz the cards when I am at the table don’t exist.”

“You astonish me, Miss Grantham. You are indeed accomplished!”

“No,” she said seriously. “It is my business to know those things. I have no accomplishments. I do not sing, or play upon the pianoforte, or paint in water-colours. Those are accomplishments.”

“True,” he agreed. “But why repine? In certain circles they may be de rigueur, but they would be of very little use to you here, I imagine. You were wise to waste no time on such fripperies: you are already perfect for your setting, ma’am.”

“For my setting!” she repeated, flushing a little. “The devil! Your cousin is more complimentary!”