Once more the marquis had succeeded in freezing the conversation, and Lady Grace, after toying with a strawberry, rose to leave the table. And as Lord Cecil opened the door for her, she put up her fan, and in a remarkably low voice murmured:
“You will not stay long?”
“I certainly sha’n’t,” he replied, emphatically, and in an equally low voice: but, low as it was, the marquis appeared to have heard it.
“I shall not detain you long,” he said. “You drink, of course?” and he touched the decanter.
The tone, and not the words, again seemed to convey an insult, and Lord Cecil shook his head, feeling as if he would rather have perished of thirst than drank a glass of the wine thus offered.
“No?” said the marquis, and he managed to make even this single word offensive. “I thought it was the present custom with young men.”
“No, sir,” said Lord Cecil; “we have changed the fashion.”
The marquis inclined his head as if the retort were a compliment.
“Ah, the present age has no vices, I presume. Is it because they have no strength for them?”
“I don’t know,” said Lord Cecil, almost coldly.