"He have eensult me," he remarked, as if disposing of the whole subject. "Then he was one great cowherd. He have epilogued me most abject."
Mrs. Neligage elevated her eyebrows, and turned her glance to Mrs. Croydon, who stood, a much overdressed goddess of discord, still in the middle of the floor.
"That is nonsense, Mrs. Croydon," she observed honeyedly. "Mr. Barnstable behaved with plenty of pluck. The apology was Jack's doing, and wasn't at all to your—your fiancé's discredit."
Miss Wentstile turned with sudden severity to Mrs. Neligage.
"Louisa," she demanded, "do you know anything about this affair?"
"Of course," was the easy answer. "Everybody in Boston knew it but you."
The Count put his teacup on the mantelpiece. He had lost the jauntiness of his air, but he was still dignified.
"Eet was one affaire d'honneur," he said.
"But why was I not told of this?" Miss Wentstile asked sharply.
"You?" Mrs. Croydon retorted with excitement. "Everybody supposed—"