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for escort.
    There were questions, of course: Prudence was prepared for them and knew no faltering. She spoke of a home in Cumberland—it seemed remote enough—and of the Grand Tour. Sir Anthony had made it: that went without saying. They conversed of foreign towns amicably and safely. Prudence displayed a remarkable knowledge of places; indeed she had the greater part of Europe in her memory, as it were, and an intimate acquaintance with haunts unfrequented by the fairer sex. Once she saw the straight brows rise, and tranquilly awaited developments.
    ‘You’ve seen a vast deal for your years, Master Peter,’ said Sir Anthony.
    ‘They number twenty, sir,’ she replied. If the truth be told they numbered twenty-six, but she looked a stripling, she knew. ‘But I lived abroad with my parents some years before my mother’s death. She could not support the English climate.’
    Sir Anthony bowed politely, and desired to know where Mr Merriot might be found in London.
    ‘My sister is to visit my Lady Lowestoft, sir,’ Prudence answered. ‘I am her escort, and I believe her ladyship will give me a lodging. Perhaps you are acquainted with her?’
    ‘Faith, all the world knows Lady Lowestoft,’ said Sir Anthony. ‘If she denies you, or you grow tired of the petticoats, my dear boy, you may command a lodging with me at any time.’
    Prudence flushed in sudden surprise, and looked sideways at the gentleman. This was unexpected; it seemed Sir Anthony was developing a kindness for her. She thanked him gravely, and learned that he owned a house in Clarges Street.
    They came to London in the dusk. Prudence sat straight enough in the saddle, but she owned privately to fatigue. It was necessary to restore Miss Letty first to her father, where also they left Sir Anthony. The lateness of the hour was pleaded as an excuse for not entering the house with Miss Letty, but Miss Merriot promised to wait upon her as soon as might be. The chaise drove on to Arlington Street, and drew up at my Lady Lowestoft’s door.
    Prudence came down out of the saddle with a sigh of relief. Robin touched her shoulder. ‘Bravely done, child. Journey’s end now.’
    ‘A halt,’ Prudence amended. ‘No doubt we’ll ha’ done with our travels when we get to heaven.’
    My lady’s black page it was that ushered them into my lady’s withdrawing room. This was a spacious apartment, resplendent with gilt and yellow brocade. My lady, it seemed, had a taste for the new French furniture. The page went away to carry Mr and Miss Merriot’s names to his mistress, and Miss Prudence looked round with a comical grimace. ‘Faith, it seems my Lady Lowestoft is the same Thérèse de Bruton,’ she remarked.
    The door was opened, and swiftly shut again behind a lady who came in with a swirl of a silk gown over an enormous hoop—a lady with black eyes like slits in a thin, vivid face, a powdered wig, and many jewels. She stood with her back to the door, her hand still on the knob, and as she looked sharply from one to the other of her visitors the narrow black eyes narrowed still more, and her face was all alive with laughter. ‘Eh, but which is the man of you, my little ones?’ she demanded.
    Prudence made her bow. ‘So please you, madam.’
    My lady came to her with quick jerky steps. ‘Never! Do I not know thee, my cabbage? Eh, Prue, my dear!’ She cast her arms about Prue’s large person, and kissed her on both cheeks. Robin fared the same, but returned the caress with greater alacrity than his flushing sister. Prudence had never a taste for stray kisses.
    ‘And the
bon papa
,
my children?’ cried my lady, holding a hand of each.
    ‘There, madam, we suppose you to have the advantage of us,’ Robin said.
    She looked a query, with her head tilted birdlike to one side. ‘Ah? What’s this? You have no news of him?’
    ‘In truth, madam, we’ve mislaid the old gentleman,’ Prudence said. ‘Or he us.’
    My lady burst out laughing again. ‘I would