The Masqueraders

Mr Markham bowed to Prudence, and went to write letters at a table against the wall. Prudence stood talking to one Mr Dendy, and was presently tapped on the shoulder.

‘Here’s your man, Devereux!’ said the voice of Sir Francis Jollyot.

Mr Devereux came up with his mincing gait. ‘’Pon my soul, so ’tis!’ He swept a leg, flourishing a scented handkerchief. ‘I am but this instant come from Arlington Street, where they told me you had walked out. I have to beg the honour of your company at a small gathering I have a mind to hold to-night. A little game of Chance, you understand.’ He held up a very white finger. ‘Now don’t, I implore you, don’t say me nay, Mr Merriot!’

Prudence smothered a sigh. ‘Why, sir, I confess I had purposed to spend this evening with my sister,’ she began.

‘Oh, come now, Merriot!’ expostulated Jollyot jovially, ‘you must not deny me my revenge!’

‘To be sure, I live in a most devilish outlandish spot,’ said Mr Devereux mournfully. ‘But you may take a chair: you know you may take a chair. ’Pon rep, sir, I do positively believe an evening spent at home is vastly more fatiguing than a quiet card-party. ’Pon my honour, sir!’

There was nothing for it but to show polite acceptance.

Mr Devereux was wreathed in smiles. ‘To tell you the truth, sir, I’ve had a devilish ticklish task to find anyone free to-night,’ he said naively. ‘Fanshawe’s engaged; so’s Barham. Molyneux goes out of town; Selwyn’s in bed with a trifling fever.’

Over against the wall Mr Markham stopped writing, and raised his head.

‘I’m overwhelmed by the honour done me,’ said Prudence ironically.

The irony went unperceived. ‘Not at all, my dear Merriot. Oh, not in the least! I shall see you then, at five? You can take a chair, you know, and be there in a trice.’

‘As you say, sir. But I think I have not the pleasure of knowing your address.’

Mr Devereux simpered elegantly. ‘Oh, a devilish inconvenient hole, sir! I’ve apartments in Charing Cross.’

‘Ah yes, I remember the street now,’ Prudence said. ‘At five o’clock, sir.’

Mr Devereux beamed upon her, and airily waved one languid hand. ‘Au revoir, then, my dear Merriot. You will take a chair, and suffer not the least inconvenience in the world. An evening at home – oh no, ecod!’ He drifted away on Jollyot’s arm, and the rest of his sentence only reached Prudence as a confused murmur.

Mr Markham went on with his writing.

Prudence walked slowly back to Arlington Street, and remarked to Robin, on his return, that she was in danger of wearing herself away to skin and bone.

Robin was bored. ‘Heigh-ho, would I were in your shoes! All this female society gives me mal-à-la-tête.’

‘Give you my word these card-parties and drinking bouts will be the death of me.’

Robin swung an impatient foot. ‘Does it occur to you, my dear, that events have not transpired precisely as they were planned?’ he inquired with a rueful look.

‘It has occurred to me many times. We meant to lie close.’

‘Oh!’ My Lady Lowestoft was arranging flowers in a big bowl. ‘But the bon papa planned it thus, my children. I was told to present you to the world.’

‘Egad, we owe it to the old gentleman, do we?’ said Robin. ‘I might have known. But why?’

‘Settlement, I think he judged it wisest. You escape remark this way. That is true, no?’

‘I suppose so. But the impropriety of Prue’s conduct – oh lud, ma’am!’

‘Consider only the impropriety of your own, my child!’ chuckled my lady.

‘I do, ma’am, often. But as regarding this charming réunion to-night, Mistress Prue, you’ll be pleased to take a chair, and eschew the Burgundy.’

‘Behold the little mentor!’ Prudence bowed to him. ‘Rest you content, my Kate.’

The evening was like a dozen other such evenings. There was dinner, and some ribald talk; cards, with the decanter passing from hand to hand, and the candles burning lower and lower in their sockets. Prudence made her excuses soon after midnight. Her host rolled a blear eye towards her, and protested thickly. Prudence was firm, however, and won her way. A sleepy lackey opened the front door for her, and she stepped out into the cool night air.

The street was deserted, but she knew a chair might be found at Charing Cross, a few sco