"It was so funny this morning!" said Norah—and boldly launched on a full story of her adventure. She held the attention of the table. The Marchesa sat in gloomy silence. Violet chimed in with more reminiscences of her visit to Scarsmoor; Miss Gilletson contributed new items, including that matter of the roses. Norah ended triumphantly with a eulogy on Lynborough's extraordinary physical powers. Captain Irons listened with concealed interest. Even Colonel Wenman ventured to opine that the enemy was worth fighting. Stillford imitated his hostess's silence, but he was watching her closely. Would her courage—or her obstinacy—break down under these assaults, this lukewarmness, these desertions? In his heart, fearful of that lawsuit, he hoped so.
"I shall prosecute him for assaulting Goodenough," the Marchesa announced.
"Goodenough touched him first!" cried Norah.
"That doesn't matter, since I'm in the right. He had no business to be there. That's the law, isn't it, Mr. Stillford? Will he be sent to prison or only heavily fined?"
"Well—er—I'm rather afraid—neither, Marchesa. You see, he'll plead his right, and the Bench would refer us to our civil remedy and dismiss the summons. At least that's my opinion."
"Of course that's right," pronounced Norah in an authoritative tone.
"If that's the English law," observed the Marchesa, rising from the table, "I greatly regret that I ever settled in England."
"What are you going to do this afternoon, Helena? Going to play tennis—or croquet?"
"I'm going for a walk, thank you, Violet." She paused for a moment and then added, "By myself."
"Oh, mayn't I have the privilege—?" began the Colonel.