The Viscount did not fall into the error of reading any complimentary meaning into this remark. He said: “Well, dash it, ma’am, there’s no harm in that! Come to think of it, who else should I be like?”

“Whom, my boy, whom!” corrected his uncle gently. “We must not forget our grammar!”

“Never knew any,” retorted the Viscount. “And don’t keep on calling me your boy! I may have a lot of faults, but at least that’s one thing no one can throw in my face!”

“Anthony, have you no consideration for my poor nerves?” quavered his mother, bringing the vinaigrette into play again.

“Well, tell that platter-faced old fidget to take himself off!” said the Viscount irritably. “Never can see when he’s not wanted, and the lord knows I’ve given him a hint times without number!”

“Ah, my b — But I must not call you that, must I? Then let it be Sherry, for that, I collect, is what your cronies, your boon companions, call you, is it not?”

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,” responded his nephew. “If you hadn’t taken it into your head to come and live here, you wouldn’t have to call me anything, and that would suit me to a cow’s thumb!”

Mr Paulett shook a finger at him. “Sherry, Sherry, I fear your suit cannot have prospered! But never mind, dear boy! Persevere, and you will see how she will come about!”

The Viscount’s cerulean eyes lit with sudden wrath, and a tide of red coloured his cheeks. “Hell and the devil confound it!” he exclaimed furiously. “So you’re at that, are you? I’ll thank you to be a little less busy about my affairs!”

Lady Sheringham abandoned tactics which appeared unlikely to succeed, and contrived to possess herself of one of his lordship’s hands. This she held between both of hers, squeezing it eloquently, and saying in a low tone: “Dearest Anthony, remember I am your Mother, and do not keep me in suspense! Have you seen dear Isabella?”