“Possibly; I have already arranged my plan of action.”
“Really?”
Caliphronas had a fleeting smile on his lips as he said this, but looked so dangerous that Crispin touched Maurice on the arm.
“Do not irritate him any more; remember he is my guest, and I cannot be impolite.”
Maurice took the hint, and addressed himself to the Count with an air of elaborate politeness.
“Don’t let us talk any more about possibilities, Count,” he said, laughing. “After all, I have some right to be angry, considering how you masqueraded as a count in England.”
“And now I am a wolf, eh?” said Caliphronas, showing his white teeth; “bah! a wolf may be a very pleasant animal.”
“Maybe, but from all accounts he is not.”
“That is as you take him; but then I know Creespeen has prejudiced you against me.”
“I have done nothing of the sort,” protested the poet quietly; “I only told him how you were accustomed to associate with Alcibiades.”