"Will you at least tell me, good Master, if I cannot serve you in any way?"
"No, sir, you cannot," replied Papa Legros gruffly. "I would have you believe and know that we came here under a misapprehension. A miscreant interpreter brought us hither, though he was bidden to take us to the house of Lord Stowmaries. We did not know that this was your house, sir, or believe me, we had never entered it."
"This is not my house," rejoined Michael gravely. "It is that of my mother, who hath left her Kentish village in order to dwell with me. For the rest, the misapprehension is most easy of explanation; nor is your interpreter so very much to blame."
He paused for the space of a second or two, then fixing steady eyes on the face of Rose Marie and throwing his head back with an air that was almost defiant in its pride, he said:
"You asked to speak with my lord of Stowmaries—'tis I who am the lord of Stowmaries now."
Then, as Legros, somewhat bewildered, stared at him in blank surprise, he added more quietly:
"You did not know this, mayhap?"
"No—no—my lord," stammered the tailor, who of a truth felt strangely perturbed, "we—that is, I and my daughter did not know that—"
"His Majesty gave his decision late last night."
There was a moment's silence in the room. It seemed as if Michael was anticipating something, waiting for a word from Rose Marie. His very attitude was an expectant one; he was leaning forward, and his eyes had sought her lips, as if trying to guess what they would utter.