The Shocking Miss Anstey by Robert Neill Page A

She had done it easily, as if she were used to it, and he remembered that she would be. Then she stretched out her hand, and at once he was bowing over it.
    ‘I hope I’ll not be a trouble,’ he said. ‘I feel an intruder.’
    ‘Of course you aren’t. I’ll be glad to hear more of you.’
    ‘It’s kind of your ladyship.’
    ‘Don’t call me that. It doesn’t fit me--here.’
    ‘Then don’t call me Captain.’ He moved a little closer and was looking into her eyes. ‘It’s not needed either. The less formality, the better.’
     
     

6 The Face in Ivory
     
    It was Lord Barford, quiet and tactful, who exploded the mine. He had no intention of doing that. He merely turned to his memories and spoke of the past, and he could hardly be blamed for the effect he had on Grant. He did not know the circumstances, or--as he might have put it himself--how the cards had been dealt.
    It came at the end of the week, on Grant’s third morning with the Wickhams. They were at leisurely breakfast together, that cool and golden morning, when a footman came from the Manor House carrying a note from Lord Barford. It was in his own laconic style, asking briefly for the company of Captain Grant at dinner that day.
    ‘What shall I do?’ asked Grant.
    ‘Go,’ said John. ‘You’ll get a decent dinner.’
    ‘What does he want me for?’
    ‘Talk about his son, I should guess. I gathered the other night you knew him.’
    ‘Very slightly. In fact----’ He stopped, half irritated by the whole thing. ‘Are you going?’
    ‘He knows I’m busy.’
    This meant his father’s affairs. He had been busy with them since his return, pressed by an attorney who seemed to think that the late Sir Harry Wickham had been more a soldier than a man of business. Apparently there were difficulties, and the attorney was due again that afternoon, a prospect that did not seem to please John. He pulled a wry face, and across the table his sister laughed softly. Then she turned to Grant.
    Tm afraid you’ll have to go,’ she told him quietly. ‘It’s Uncle Barford’s way. He thinks he’s head of the family.’
    ‘Isn’t he?’
    ‘Not of this one, even if my mother was his sister.’
    ‘What does he want me for?’
    ‘Hasn’t John told you?’
    ‘Barford’s son?’
    ‘Yes.’ She looked steadily at him. ‘You wouldn’t think he has soft spots. He’s rather a man of the world, all polish and manners, but he’s soft in that spot. He likes talking about the boy. So if you knew him----’
    ‘I hardly did. I never served in Royal Sovereign, even if I did meet her midshipmen occasionally, and to be quite honest I can’t really remember which of them he was. There was a red-haired tearaway who was certainly heir to someone, and a fair-haired youngster who---‘
    ‘That’s the one.’
    ‘So you remember him?’
    ‘In a village?’ Again the soft laugh came. ‘I think he was good-looking enough to make any girl remember him. I was only fifteen, mind you, when he was last here, and I suppose he’d have been about eighteen. That was his last leave, and he kissed me in the park under the trees-----‘
    ‘Oh ho!’ said her brother. ‘You never told me that.’
    ‘No?’ For an instant her eyebrows lifted. ‘You were an ensign then, John, very fine in scarlet, and I never asked how many girls you kissed--here or elsewhere.’
    ‘It was elsewhere. There weren’t any here.’
    ‘There was at least one, and you know who she was. However...’ She turned sardonically back to Grant. ‘Dick Barford was the fair-haired one, if that clears your memories at all.’
    ‘Yes.’ He spoke thoughtfully. ‘I suppose he joined Royal Sovereign after that---‘
    ‘And didn’t come back. Precisely.’ She nodded shortly. ‘He wasn’t the only one. So you’d better go and talk to his father. Or listen to him.’
    ‘It sounds delicate. How of his mother, by the way? I take it that Lady Barford is dead?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then---‘ He stopped