“I collect,” said the Marquis, faint amusement in his eyes, “from your hesitant air and sheepish demeanour, that you feel it to be your duty to put me in mind of yet another obligation. Take my advice, and don’t do it! I shall take it very unkind in you, and very likely fly up into the boughs.”
A grin dispelled the gravity of Mr Trevor’s countenance. “You never do, sir,” he said simply. “And it isn’t an obligation — at least, I don’t think it is! Only I thought you would like to know of it.”
“Oh, did you? In my experience, whenever those words are uttered they are the prelude to something I would liefer not know.”
“Yes,” said Mr Trevor ingenuously, “but I wish you will read this letter! As a matter of fact, I promised Miss Merriville that you would!”
“And who,” demanded his lordship, “is Miss Merriville?”
“She said you would know, sir.”
“Really, Charles, you should know me better than to suppose that I carry in my head the names of all the — ” He stopped, his brows drawing together. “Merriville,” he repeated thoughtfully.
“I believe, sir, some sort of connection of yours.”
“A very remote sort! What the devil does she want?”
Mr Trevor offered him a sealed letter. He took it, but said severely: “You would be very well served if I put it into the fire, and left you to explain how it was that you were not, after all, able to see to it that I read it!” He broke the seal and opened the letter. It did not take him long to master its contents. He raised his eyes when he came to the end, and directed a look of pained enquiry at Mr Trevor. “Are you a trifle out of sorts, Charles? On the toodle last night, and not feeling quite the thing today?”