Meet The Baron Read Online Free PDF Page A

“I wondered whether you would. Old Rawson is cursing himself for letting it go, I’ll bet.”
    “Are you interested in precious stones?” asked Lorna.
    Lady Fauntley noticed the sparkle in her daughter’s eyes, and was apprehensive. Lorna did say such dreadful things on occasions.
    “Always when they become their wearers,” said Mannering.
    He was sorry, a moment later. The triteness of the words brought a flicker of amusement to Lorna’s eyes. There was something scornful about her expression.
    “Almost like pressing button B, wasn’t it?” she said mockingly.
    “Oh, my dear!” thought Lady Fauntley miserably.
    “Darned little idiot!” stormed her husband inwardly, stabbing viciously at his fish.
    Mannering laughed, and was glad of the answering laughter in the girl’s eyes.
    “Touché!” he admitted. “As ye sow, so shall ye reap.”
    “It doesn’t always follow,” said Lorna.
    “Careful, girl, careful,” muttered Fauntley to himself. He lived in perpetual fear of the offence Lorna would give to his many visitors. Lorna spoke her mind too much, and, to make things worse, had a mind to speak.
    “So sweet not to take offence,” thought Lady Fauntley.
    “I like him,” Lorna reaffirmed.
    Mannering chuckled to himself
    “The Liska’s only one of many of yours, isn’t it?” he asked, playing with a spoon. “I’ve heard rumours that your collection is unrivalled.”
    “Only rumours?” Fauntley chuckled, in rare good humour. “It’s the truth, Mannering, take it from me. Like to see them?”
    “After dinner, dear,” said Lady Fauntley.
    “Of course, of course.”
    “Thanks,” said Mannering. His eyes challenged Lorna’s. She was dressed in a black Schiaparelli gown, gathered at the corsage with a single diamond clip, but otherwise she was innocent of jewels. The gleaming white satin of her skin needed none. “You don’t like gems?” he asked her.
    “A Roland for my Oliver,” thought Lorna. Aloud: “Not so much as I’m supposed to,” she admitted.
    “But you’re free to choose,” said Mannering.
    “Everything’s a darned sight too free and easy over here,” broke in Fauntley, whose recent political activities tempted him to mount the platform at the slightest opportunity. “Going to the dogs, that’s what I think, Mannering, and - ”
    “Do try that soufflé,” pleaded Lady Fauntley.
    Mannering smiled, and the imps of laughter in Lorna’s eyes matched his.
    The meal passed as pleasantly as it had begun, and Mannering told himself that Lady Fauntley, passive as she was, had more in her to admire than her husband. But there was not the slightest hint of her in Lorna; the girl seemed of a different class. He was enjoying himself much more than he had expected.
    They chatted for a while over the Cockburn 1900. Fauntley was jerky both in manner and speech, a little too self-important, as though he were anxious to prepare his guest for an honour indeed. Mannering smiled when he realised the peer’s pride in his possessions, and his heart beat faster when at last they moved - the two ladies had been with them all the time - from the dining-room to the library and thence to the strong room, built in one corner. If Fauntley was to be believed the collection held so safely in the room was without parallel in England.
    And what did the possession of it mean to Fauntley, beyond an outlet for boastfulness that was already more than annoying?
    Mannering pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind as Fauntley opened the door of the strong-room and switched on the light.
    “Come along in, Mannering - you’re one of the half-dozen who’ve ever been inside, so you can think yourself honoured. Careful with the door, Lorna; we might get shut in. No one else has a key, and our obituary notices would be out before we were. Ha! Don’t shiver so, Lucy - only my joke.”
    Lady Fauntley glanced nervously at the steel door, while her husband played with the combination of one of the safes in