"The moon appears quite near," said Leicester, significantly. "But don't let us quarrel over Lady Lackland's temperature; I was going to ask you if you would persuade Mrs. Mildmay to try a little yachting."
Violet was about to reply when a smooth voice, the low, hateful one of Captain Murpoint, said behind them:
"Miss Mildmay, I am the reluctant censor. This night is dangerous after a warm room, and your aunt has commissioned me to break into a pleasant tête-à-tête and carry you from the probability of cold."
Violet smiled, and was about to put her hand upon his arm, but Leicester, whose face had set with that hard, cold look which some of his friends had seen when he was about to punish insolence or was suppressing his feelings by a great effort, took her hand and laid it on his own arm.
"Allow me to take you to Mrs. Mildmay and offer my excuses, Miss Mildmay," he said.
And as he passed the captain he looked him full in the face with the cold, icy stare.
The captain met the look of contemptuous suspicion and defiance with the sweetest smile, which lingered upon his face until the pair had quite passed, then it deepened to a grin, and the wreathed lips muttered:
"Soh! Now comes the tug of war. My lord, the grand duke, King Leicester means fighting. So be it. Howard, my boy, you have had a nice little rest, now set to work!"