"I have no taste for cards, and no humour for song," retorted Gabrielle, her eyes alight with the indignation Lord Denningham ever kindled within her. "And, if I had, my song would scarcely please your ears, my lord, since it would be loyal and royal both."
Her overstrained nerves showed in a gusty little fit of passion, which brought a wider smile to Jack Denningham's mocking lips.
"Loyal and royal," he murmured. "And you are Morry's sister!"
The last words beneath his breath had bitter sting in them.
It goaded Gabrielle to indiscretion.
"Yes," she replied hotly, "I am Morry's sister,—sister to the Marquis de Varenac, I would have you remember, and mistress here in his absence."
A low bow was her answer, but Lord Denningham's eyes were malicious.
"I congratulate you, with all my heart," he said softly, "on your new mistress-ship." And he smiled as he glanced towards Michael Berrington.
The latter was standing erect, and his eyes were ready to flash their reply and challenge.
But Gabrielle interrupted—she had not caught the drift of his subtle insult.