“I should hope so! My dear Carstares, who is the man walking by your lady’s chair?”

“Markham?”

“The other.”

“Lovelace.”

“Lovelace? And who the devil is he?”

“I cannot tell you⁠—beyond a captain in the Guards.”

“That even is news to me. I saw him at Goosetree’s the other night, and wondered. Somewhat of a rakehell, I surmise.”

“I daresay. I do not like him.”