Lord Denningham forced another laugh, not quite so careless and mocking as the first.
"A mere scratch," he replied, with would-be lightness—"nothing of any consequence."
But impulse had already brought Gabrielle to his side.
"If you are hurt," she said, very gravely, "you shall let me bind it for you. I—I have some slight skill in such work. Nurse Bond taught me."
She made as though to touch the wounded wrist, but he drew it back sharply.
"Tush! a scratch!" he growled. "Half healed already. I want no bandages."
Count Jéhan was yawning, as he helped himself to snuff.
"An excellent flavour," he murmured, half to himself. "Bought from a friend who has traded much in the East. Permit me, Monsieur."
He offered the dainty little box with a graceful bow.
Lord Denningham stretched out a ready hand. In doing so the lace ruffle fell back, disclosing an arm too white for manhood, though muscular and hardened by sword-play. Count Jéhan looked from arm to owner.