'You are nearly able to handle your sword, I presume?' he continued, in a more marked tone, while playing alternately with the tassel of his sabre and his long black moustache.
'Very nearly, Captain Guebhard; but it is not the habit with British officers to bring their swords into a drawing-room among ladies.'
'Very likely; but I am a Servian officer, and I hope you consider yourself one now.'
There was something quietly offensive in the tone and bearing of Guebhard that irritated Cecil. The latter remembered the pieces of music inscribed with the monogram of the captain, and their disappearance too. He also remembered that Margarita had spoken of Guebhard's jealousy—that he was jealous as Jelitza, of the Servian legend and proverb; and Cecil thought there could be no jealousy without some love, or what passed as such.
What were, or had been, the relations between Margarita and Guebhard in past time—and how were they situated now? That he came freely and installed himself as a privileged ami du maison was evident, and as such he was warmly welcomed by the countess. But on what footing—as a friend of the absent count, as the fiancé of Margarita, or as a relation of the family?
So Cecil felt puzzled as well as irritated, and when again asked for his despatches, he plainly and firmly declined to give them up to Guebhard, though a superior officer.
'I fear I have interrupted your performance,' said the latter, abruptly changing the subject; 'does the Herr Lieutenant sing?' he asked of Margarita.
'Yes—with power and skill,' she replied promptly; 'but when you entered I was just about to sing to him.'
'What?'
'"The Wishes."'