“I shall not have far to seek, at any rate,” said Mr. Tredegar, as he received the note, “for Prince Ernest has apartments on this very floor.”
“I knew of course that he was stopping here,” said Alexander.
“And now then, if it is a discreet question, who is the fair lady for whose sake two such gallant knights are to do battle?” inquired Tredegar, poising the paper on his finger.
“But it is not a fair question, Tredegar. The name of the lady should never be mentioned in such matters. I cannot utter it even to you, dear Francis,” said Alick gravely.
“All right. But see here! It is never that beautiful young widow, Mrs. Lyon, who made such a sensation as the belle of the ball last night?”
“Bosh!” exclaimed Alexander, growing deadly white, and jerking himself around in apparent impatience, but with a real desire to conceal his emotion—“Bosh, I say! It is no widow for whose sake I wish to meet him. There is not a widow alive in whom I feel the slightest interest!”
“Well, then, I think you are all at sea about the prince. He thinks of no other woman in the world but the beautiful widow. His devotion to her was the general topic of conversation last night.”
“And I tell you that you are all ‘at sea,’ as you call it, my dear Francis. Come! you have taken my word for the justice of my cause, now take my challenge to my foe.”
“Well, that is soon done, unless he has gone to bed.”
“That he has not I will venture to predict. He is waiting my challenge.”