"Holding the position I do in your house, Lord Lynborough," he said, "I had no right to use the words I used this evening at dinner. I apologize for them. But, on the other hand, I have no wish to hold a position which prevents me from using those words when they represent what I think. I beg you to accept my resignation, and I shall be greatly obliged if you can arrange to relieve me of my duties as soon as possible."
Lynborough heard him without interruption; with grave impassive face, with surprise, pity, and a secret amusement. Even if he were right, he was so solemn over it!
The young man waited for no answer. With the merest indication of a bow, he left Lynborough alone, and passed on into the house.
"Well, now!" said Lord Lynborough, rising and lighting a cigar. "This Marchesa! Well, now!"
Stabb's heavy form came lumbering in from the terrace; he seemed to move more heavily than ever, as though his bulk were even unusually inert. He plumped down into a chair and looked up at Lynborough's graceful figure.
"I meant what I said at dinner, Ambrose. I wasn't joking, though I suppose you thought I was. All this affair may amuse you—it worries me. I can't settle to work. If you'll be so kind as to send me over to Easthorpe to-morrow, I'll be off—back to Oxford."
"Cromlech, old boy!"
"Yes, I know. But I—I don't want to stay, Ambrose. I'm not—comfortable." His great face set in a heavy, disconsolate, wrinkled frown.
Lord Lynborough pursed his lips in a momentary whistle, then put his cigar back into his mouth, and walked out on to the terrace.
"This Marchesa!" said he again. "This very remarkable Marchesa! Her riposte is admirable. Really I venture to hope that I, in my turn, have very seriously disturbed her household!"