“Quite unintentionally so,” replied Mary. “And at any rate you have not committed yourself in any way.”
“More than you can say for Geoffrey!” cried Alice, giving him a glance of ineffable contempt as he leisurely ascended the steps, not the least disconcerted by the situation.
“He only meant it as a joke, or at least as a mark of cousinly affection,” said Reginald, who, had Geoffrey succeeded in robbing Alice of a kiss, would have probably acted in a manner that would have surprised them both considerably. Fortunately, Geoffrey had been baffled, those pure sweet lips were still sacred to him; Alice was as loyal to him as he had been to her. The mere thought of this opened his heart to all the world, Geoffrey included.
“Forgive him this once,” Reginald said, “and I’ll be surety it never occurs again.”
“You take his part then?” she retorted hotly.
The more indignant she was the more her husband’s spirits rose.
“Pardon me, I said nothing of taking anyone’s part; but I am quite certain that Geoffrey will never offend again.”
Seeing that Alice made no reply, and looked anything but appeased as she stood tapping one foot impatiently on the flags:
“Shall I,” he continued, with one of his old and now very rare smiles, “parade Geoffrey at twelve paces to-morrow on the tennis-ground? I’m afraid there will be some difficulty about weapons and seconds. My revolver and Maurice’s pop-gun are the only pistols available. We might toss for the revolver, eh, Geoffrey?”
“Oh, of course, if you are going to treat the whole thing as a jest,” broke in Alice indignantly, “there is no more to be said,” turning away to enter the house.