From the place where he stood, he could hear, as the captain had intended that he should, every word Fitz and Violet were saying.
The young lord, excited by the wine to an extraordinary pitch of courage, was making love, hot and furious.
Violet, just a little frightened, was laughingly and rather nervously evading him.
Leicester's cheeks flushed, and, his eyes, hidden by the field glass, flashed passionately.
"Consummate coquette!" he murmured, "she is either fooling the boy or angling for a coronet—she whom I thought the soul of purity and disinterestedness. Which is it? By Heaven, I will know!"
And, much to the captain's amusement, he dropped the field glass and said, with an air almost of command:
"Miss Mildmay, your eyes are better than either mine or Captain Murpoint's; pray lend us their aid."
Violet hesitated a moment, then, with a smile which barely covered a peculiar feeling of nervousness, rose and came forward.
"Step outside," said Leicester, in his deep voice, and before she knew what he was going to do he drew her hand within his arm and led her out. "Do you see," he said, "out yonder? or have you no eyes for anything to-night but Lord Fitz Plantagenet Boisdale?"
"Mr. Leicester!" exclaimed Violet, with dignity, still trembling inwardly.