He stood with his hands respectfully clasped behind his back, balancing himself on the edge of his tiny lawn, and regarded her without emotion. The grim evidence of the tragedy was hidden from his view, but he accepted her estimate of his action with disconcerting calmness.
Hank, discreetly hidden in the conservatory, was an interested eavesdropper.
The girl had time to notice that the Duke had a pleasant face, burnt and tanned by sun and wind, that he was clean-shaven, with a square, determined jaw and clear grey eyes that were steadfastly fixed on hers. In a way he was good looking, though she was too angry to observe the fact, and the loose flannel suit he wore did not hide the athletic construction of the man beneath.
"It is monstrous of you!" she said hotly, "you, a stranger here——"
"I know your cat," he said calmly.
"And very likely it wasn't poor Tibs at all that ate your wretched flowers."
"Then poor Tibs isn't hurt," said the Duke with a sigh of relief, "for the cat I shot at was making a hearty meal of my young chrysanthemums and——"
"How dare you say that!" she demanded wrathfully, "when the poor thing is flying round the house with a—with a wounded tail?"
The young man grinned.
"If I've only shot a bit off her tail," he said cheerfully, "I am relieved. I thought she was down and out."