The effect of this pronouncement on the Duchess was unexpected. She at once turned to Mr. Comyn, who was trying to put on his coat again as unobtrusively as possible, and caught his hand in both her own. “ Voyons, I am so very glad! It is you who are Mr. Comyn? I hope you will be very happy, m’sieur. Oh, but very happy!”
Juliana gave a strangled cry at this. “How can you be so cruel, Aunt Léonie? He is betrothed to me!”
“Damme, if he’s betrothed to you how came you to go off with Vidal?” demanded Lord Rupert reasonably.
“I didn’t!” Juliana declared.
“I said it was not so!” said her grace triumphantly. “You see, Rupert!”
“No, I’ll be pinked if I do,” replied his lordship. “If it was Comyn you ran off with, why did you say you’d gone with Vidal, in that devilish silly note of yours?”
“I didn’t run off with Frederick! You don’t understand, Uncle Rupert.”
“Then whom in the fiend’s name did you run off with?” said his lordship.
“With Vidal — at least, I went with him, but of course I did not elope, if that is what you mean! I hate Vidal! I wouldn’t marry him for the world.”
“No, my girl, you’d not have the chance,” struck in the Marquis.