Mr. Hammond recoiled perceptibly, and stared in horror at the Marquis. “Do I understand that this is none other than that Marquis of Vidal who — sir, if I had known, no persuasion would have sufficed to draw me into this house!”
The Marquis’s brows lifted. “My good sir,” he said, “you are not sent for to condemn my morals, but to marry me to a certain lady at present staying in this inn.”
Léonie cried out, aghast: “But you cannot, Dominique! You said that she is married to M. Comyn!”
“So I thought, madame, but she is not.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Hammond very furiously; “I shall perform no marriage service!”
Lord Rupert looked at him through his quizzing glass. “Who is this fellow?” he inquired haughtily. “I don’t like him, stap me if I do!”
“Dominique,” Léonie said urgently, “I cannot talk to you here, with all these people. You say you will marry this girl, but it seems to me that it is not all necessary, for first she runs away with you, and then with M. Comyn, so that I see very well she is like that mother and sister whom I have met.”
He took her hands. “Maman, when you have seen her you will know that she is not like them. I am going to marry her.” He drew her over to the window, and said gently: “ Ma chère, you told me to fall in love, did you not?”
“Not with a girl like this one,” she replied, with a small sob.
“You will like her,” he persisted. “Egad, she’s after your own heart, maman! She shot me in the arm.”