‘Hah!’ said Sir Henry. ‘These doctors don’t know anything. Patricia’s scalp! A common childish ailment, and Withers, having pottered about with it for weeks without doing any good, is now going to dose the child with a depilatory. Disgusting! I have spoken to the child’s mother, but I’d have done better to hold my tongue. Who,’ Sir Henry demanded, ‘pays any attention to the old man? Nobody. Ours is an Ancient House, Mrs Alleyn. We have borne arms since my ancestor, the Sieur d’Ancred, fought beside the Conqueror. And before that. Before that. A proud house. Perhaps in my own humble way I have not disgraced it. But what will happen when I am Gone? I look for my Heir and what do I find? A Thing! An emasculated Popinjay!’

He evidently expected some reply to this pronouncement on Cedric, but Troy was quite unable to think of one.

‘The last of the Ancreds!’ he said, glaring at her. ‘A family that came in with the Conqueror to go out with a—’

‘But,’ said Troy, ‘he may marry and…’

‘And have kittens! P’shaw!’

‘Perhaps Mr Thomas Ancred…’

‘Old Tommy! No! I’ve talked to old Tommy. He doesn’t see it. He’ll die a bachelor. And Claude’s wife is past it. Well; it was my hope to know the line was secure before I went. I shan’t.’

‘But, bless my soul,’ said Troy, ‘you’re taking far too gloomy a view of all this. There’s not much wrong with a man who can pose for an hour with a helmet weighing half a hundredweight on his head. You may see all sorts of exciting things happen.’

It was astonishing, it was almost alarming, to see how promptly he squared his shoulders, how quickly gallantry made its reappearance. ‘Do you think so?’ he said, and Troy noticed how his hand went to his cloak, giving it an adroit hitch. ‘Well, perhaps, after all, you’re right. Clever lady! Yes, yes. I may see something exciting and what’s more—’ he paused and gave a very queer little giggle—‘what’s more, my dear, so may other people.’

Troy was never to know if Sir Henry would have elaborated on this strange prophecy, as at that moment a side door in the auditorium was flung open and Miss Orrincourt burst into the little theatre.

‘Noddy!’ she shouted angrily. ‘You’ve got to come. Get out of that funny costume and protect me. I’ve had as much of your bloody family as I can stand. It’s them or me. Now!’

She strode down the aisle and confronted him, her hands on her hips, a virago.

Sir Henry eyed her with more apprehension, Troy thought, than astonishment, and began a placatory rumbling.