This speech not unnaturally stunned her audience into silence for several moments. Sir Vincent drew out his snuffbox and delicately inhaled a pinch of his favorite mixture. It was he who broke the silence. “So the murder is out!” he remarked. “Do not look so aghast, Sophy! Remember that our dear Sancia is to cook the dinner!”
“This,” suddenly announced Mr. Fawnhope, who had not been attending to a word of the conversation, “is a singularly beautiful house! I shall go all over it.”
He then picked up the lamp from the table, and bore it off toward one of the doors that opened on to the hall. Sir Vincent took it from him and restored it to its place, saying kindly, “You shall do so, my dear young friend, but take this candle, if you please!”
“Sir Vincent,” said Sophy, a martial light in her eye, “if I were a man, you should suffer for this treachery!”
“Dear Sophy, you shoot better than nine out of ten men of my acquaintance, so if anyone of us had the forethought to bring with him a pair of dueling pistols — ?”
“No one,” said the Marquesa, with decision, “shall shoot a pistol, because it is of all things what I most detest, and, besides, it is more important that we should prepare dinner!”
“I suppose,” said Sophy regretfully, “that that is true. One must eat! But I now perceive how right my cousin Charles was to warn me to have nothing to do with you, Sir Vincent! I did not think you would have served Sir Horace such a backhanded turn!”
“All is fair, dear Sophy, in love and war!” he said sententiously.
She was obliged to bite back the retort that sprang to her lips. He smiled understandingly and moved toward her, taking her hand, and saying in a lowered voice, “Consider, Juno! My need is far greater than Sir Horace’s! How could I resist?”
“‘ Amor ch’a null’amato amar perdona,’ “ dreamily remarked Mr. Fawnhope, whose peregrinations about the hall had brought him within earshot.