I arose—all the men arose—and bowed stiffly. She hesitated and seemed a bit embarrassed—then, suddenly, held out her hand to me.
"I am afraid, Armand," she said, "you are not glad to see me."
Armand! Armand! Lord, what nerve! A rush of sharp anger almost choked me, yet I tried to look at her only in calm interrogation.
"I think, Mrs. Spencer," I said, just touching her hand, "almost every man is glad to see a pretty woman."
She gave me a look of surprise; then, threw up her head, disdainfully.
"You called me 'Mrs. Spencer'?" she asked.
I looked at her in surprise. "I was not aware you had changed your name," I answered.
She took a step backward. "You were not aware of what?" she exclaimed.
"That you were no longer Mrs. Spencer," I said—a trifle curtly, maybe. I thought she was playing for a presentation to the Princess and I had no intention of gratifying her, even if I had to be rude to her deliberately.
She passed her hand across her brow and stared at me incredulously. I turned half aside and glanced around the table. Every face but three showed blank amazement. Of those three, the Princess's wore a tolerant smile; Lotzen's a frown; but Courtney's was set in almost a sneer. And, at it, I marvelled. Later, I understood; he had, by some queer intuition, guessed what was to follow.