A female servant knocked and entered, letting in a flood of light from the hall. She gazed with decorous astonishment at the occupants of the room.
“Ursula,” said Willie, coming in with the others, “is it true that you have let the shooting?”
“No; that was not one of my crimes,” replied Ursula, with a petulant laugh. “Otto did it immediately after Gerard’s departure.” Then her voice softened. “I believe it was the greatest sacrifice he ever made. You know, he was such a splendid shot.”
“He was,” assented Willie, with that solemn admiration which no man can suppress.
“But, Ursula, I remember you used to say you hated ‘splendid shots’?” suggested Helena, looking back over the arm which still supported the Dowager. They were passing in to dinner. Willie, glancing up, saw mischief in his wife’s blue eye.
“They are better than stabs,” answered Ursula; and from that moment it might be evident to any one that these two women meant war. It would not, however, be the feminine skirmishing of intrigue and innuendo, for Helena, as we know, was reckless, and Ursula blunt.
“I want to sit next to poor dear auntie,” said Helena, as they took their places. “Mynheer van Helmont, I suppose your habitual seat is next to the lady of the house? Are you going to stay here long?”
“I have no habitual seat,” replied Theodore, awkwardly. “I leave to-night. I am only a three days’ guest.”
“Yes; no one of your name could be anything else at the Horst now. Not even the head of the house, away in Acheen.” She smiled sweetly and turned to the Dowager.