“That’s Major Montague Bristow,” said the judge. “He’s been master of the heralds for years. The tournament could hardly happen without the major.”
“I’m sure I’d like him,” she answered. “What a lovely girl he is talking to!”
It was Shirley who had beckoned the major from the lists. She was leaning over the railing. “Why has Ridgeley Pendleton left?” she asked in a low voice. “Isn’t he one of the twelve?”
“He was. But he’s ill. He wasn’t feeling up to it when he came, but he didn’t give up till half an hour ago. We’ll have to get along with eleven knights.”
She made an exclamation of dismay. “Poor Ridge! And what a pity! There have never been less than the full number. It will spoil the royal quadrille to-night, too. Why doesn’t the committee choose some one in his place?”
“Too late. Besides, he would have no costume.”
“Surely that’s not so important as filling the Round Table?”
“It’s too bad. But I’m afraid it can’t be helped.”
She bent still closer. “Listen. Why not ask Mr. Valiant? He is our host to-night. I’m sure he’d be glad to help out, even without the costume.”
“Egad!” he said, pulling his imperial. “None of us had thought of him. He could ride Pendleton’s mount, of course.” He reflected a moment. “I’ll do it. It’s exactly the right thing. You’re a clever girl, Shirley.”