sorry for it.”
The Duke looked at him sardonically. “I am not in the least interested in your emotions, Vidal. What I object to is that you have had the impertinence to disturb your mother. That I do not permit. You will leave England at once.”
Vidal was very pale, and a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched. “I'll stand my trial, I believe.”
The Duke put up his glass and surveyed Vidal through it “You do not appear to have much understanding of the situation,” he remarked. “You will leave England, not to save your neck, nor because it is my will, but to spare your mother any further anxiety concerning your safety. I trust I make myself plain?”
Vidal looked at him with hard defiant eyes. Then he strode restlessly to the window and back again. “Quite plain. Yet if I say I’ll not go, what then?”
“I should regret the necessity of course, but I should—er—contrive your departure willy-nilly.”
The Marquis gave a short laugh. “Egad, I believe you would! I’ll go.”
“You had better bid your mother good-bye,” recommended his grace. “You will reach the coast quite easily by to-night.”
“Just as you please, sir,” Vidal said indifferently. He picked up his hat and gloves from the table. “Is there anything more you desire to say to me?”
“Very little,” Avon answered. “Your restraint is quite admirable. I applaud it.”
“I thought it was my lack of it that had offended your sensibilities, sir,” said Vidal grimly. “You go too fast for me.”
Avon smiled. “You must not think me witless, my dear boy. I am perfectly aware that you would like to throw my extremely reprehensible past in my teeth.”
“I confess, sir, I find your homily a little ironic.”
“Quite amusing, is it not?” agreed his grace. “I am perfectly sensible of it. But the road I travelled is not the road I should desire my son to take. And you will no doubt agree that a liberal experience of vice gives me some right to judge.” He rose and came to the fire. “Concerning more immediate matters, you may draw upon Foley’s in Paris, of course.”
“Thank you, sir, I have enough for my needs,” the Marquis said stiffly.
“I compliment you. You are certainly the first Alastair ever to say so. You will find your mother upstairs.”
“Then I’ll take my leave of you, sir,” Vidal said. “Accept my apologies for the inconvenience I may have caused you.” He bowed, unsmiling, and turned sharp on his heel. As he jerked open the door, Avon spoke again. “By the way, Vidal, does my record still stand?”
The Marquis looked back over his shoulder, frowning. “Your record, sir?”
“Three hours and forty-seven minutes was my time,” said his grace pensively.
An unwilling laugh broke from Vidal. “No, sir, your record does not stand.”
“I thought not,” said Avon. “May I be permitted to know the new record?”
“Three hours and forty-four minutes. But the curricle was specially designed.”
“So was mine,” said Avon. “I am glad you bettered my time. If I were twenty years younger—”
“I beg you will not attempt it, ski” said the Marquis quickly. He hesitated; the stormy look was still in his face, but his eyes had softened.
“Pray do not do violence to your feelings,” Avon said. “You will find me remarkably hard to wound.”
The Marquis let go the door handle, and came back to his father’s side. “I beg your pardon, sir.” He took Avon’s thin hand in his, and bent to touch it with his lips. “ Adieu, mon père .”
“Let us say, rather, au revoir ,”Avon answered. “I will spare you my blessing which I cannot conceive would benefit you in the least.”
Upon which they parted, each one understanding the other tolerably well. Vidal’s interview with his mother lasted much longer, and was to him even more unpleasant. Léonie had no reproaches for him, but she was plainly unhappy, and the Marquis hated to see his mother unhappy.
“It’s my
The Duke looked at him sardonically. “I am not in the least interested in your emotions, Vidal. What I object to is that you have had the impertinence to disturb your mother. That I do not permit. You will leave England at once.”
Vidal was very pale, and a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched. “I'll stand my trial, I believe.”
The Duke put up his glass and surveyed Vidal through it “You do not appear to have much understanding of the situation,” he remarked. “You will leave England, not to save your neck, nor because it is my will, but to spare your mother any further anxiety concerning your safety. I trust I make myself plain?”
Vidal looked at him with hard defiant eyes. Then he strode restlessly to the window and back again. “Quite plain. Yet if I say I’ll not go, what then?”
“I should regret the necessity of course, but I should—er—contrive your departure willy-nilly.”
The Marquis gave a short laugh. “Egad, I believe you would! I’ll go.”
“You had better bid your mother good-bye,” recommended his grace. “You will reach the coast quite easily by to-night.”
“Just as you please, sir,” Vidal said indifferently. He picked up his hat and gloves from the table. “Is there anything more you desire to say to me?”
“Very little,” Avon answered. “Your restraint is quite admirable. I applaud it.”
“I thought it was my lack of it that had offended your sensibilities, sir,” said Vidal grimly. “You go too fast for me.”
Avon smiled. “You must not think me witless, my dear boy. I am perfectly aware that you would like to throw my extremely reprehensible past in my teeth.”
“I confess, sir, I find your homily a little ironic.”
“Quite amusing, is it not?” agreed his grace. “I am perfectly sensible of it. But the road I travelled is not the road I should desire my son to take. And you will no doubt agree that a liberal experience of vice gives me some right to judge.” He rose and came to the fire. “Concerning more immediate matters, you may draw upon Foley’s in Paris, of course.”
“Thank you, sir, I have enough for my needs,” the Marquis said stiffly.
“I compliment you. You are certainly the first Alastair ever to say so. You will find your mother upstairs.”
“Then I’ll take my leave of you, sir,” Vidal said. “Accept my apologies for the inconvenience I may have caused you.” He bowed, unsmiling, and turned sharp on his heel. As he jerked open the door, Avon spoke again. “By the way, Vidal, does my record still stand?”
The Marquis looked back over his shoulder, frowning. “Your record, sir?”
“Three hours and forty-seven minutes was my time,” said his grace pensively.
An unwilling laugh broke from Vidal. “No, sir, your record does not stand.”
“I thought not,” said Avon. “May I be permitted to know the new record?”
“Three hours and forty-four minutes. But the curricle was specially designed.”
“So was mine,” said Avon. “I am glad you bettered my time. If I were twenty years younger—”
“I beg you will not attempt it, ski” said the Marquis quickly. He hesitated; the stormy look was still in his face, but his eyes had softened.
“Pray do not do violence to your feelings,” Avon said. “You will find me remarkably hard to wound.”
The Marquis let go the door handle, and came back to his father’s side. “I beg your pardon, sir.” He took Avon’s thin hand in his, and bent to touch it with his lips. “ Adieu, mon père .”
“Let us say, rather, au revoir ,”Avon answered. “I will spare you my blessing which I cannot conceive would benefit you in the least.”
Upon which they parted, each one understanding the other tolerably well. Vidal’s interview with his mother lasted much longer, and was to him even more unpleasant. Léonie had no reproaches for him, but she was plainly unhappy, and the Marquis hated to see his mother unhappy.
“It’s my
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