“Oh, my lord,” said she, with formal grace, “the poor sentence was, certes, never worth such courteous attention. I was but about to say that I, too, have heard of your lordship often.”
“Aye? From what source?” he asked, and a shadow fell on his face.
But she was smiling.
“From this source,” she answered him, waving her roses toward Harry.
“Ah,” cried Rockhurst, laughing upon a sigh, “no doubt the rogue has full wearied you with the subject.”
“Alas,” she responded quickly, “must I not take this reproach to myself?”
Lionel Ratcliffe pulled young Rockhurst by the sleeve.
“What, all agaze and bewildered, Harry? Never fear, these are but Court wits in a friendly bout. Clink, clink, the sparks fly. But, hark to you, beware an unfoiled weapon.”
The boy withdrew from his touch with disfavour, and Rockhurst turned upon the whisperer a haughty look of enquiry.