For fully three minutes Lady Devene was lost in deep meditation. Then suddenly, while her husband was telling some story of grouse-shooting on a Scotch moor, from which they had just returned, she broke in in a loud voice, thumping her heavy hand upon the table:
“Himmel! I see it now. It is Lord Southwick’s little joke. You are that man, Colonel Ullershaw.”
Whereat the company broke into a roar of laughter, and Rupert nearly died of shame.
The feast was over at last, and Lord Devene came into the hall to bid his guests good-bye.
“Well,” asked Edith, as he helped her with her cloak, “you have seen him. What do you say now?”
“Excelsior!” he said. “You must climb that difficult height. You must marry him; that is, if you can, which I very much doubt.”
“Do you indeed?” answered Edith. “Almost am I minded to try—for the sake of argument. Good-night!”
“Didn’t I tell you he was a hero?” sneered Dick, as he led her to the cab. “Poor Edith! I pity you, exposed to the fascinations of such a warrior.”
“Do you indeed,” she repeated. “Well, I admit they are rather dangerous.”
Meanwhile Lord Southwick had button-holed Rupert by the front door.