“What is?”
“I remember. You are very strong and much given to fighting.”
The duke opened and shut his hands, pleasurably. Here was something he could understand. He was a fighting man himself. Where was this going to end, and what was it all about?
“Do you not think, Madame, that you owe me something?”
“No. What I owe I pay. Think, Mr. Courtlandt; think well.”
“I do not understand,” impatiently.
“Ebbene, I owe you nothing. Once I heard you say—‘I do not like to see you with the Calabrian; she is—Well, you know.’ I stood behind you at another time when you said that I was a fool.”
“Madame, I do not forget that, that is pure invention. You are mistaken.”
“No. You were. I am no fool.” A light laugh drifted down the tube.
“Madame, I begin to see.”