Lord Denningham might have been conscious of the simile.
"A moonlight rhapsody," he sneered. "But I fear, madam, your brother grows impatient."
She rose with immense dignity.
"You will give me your hand to my coach, sir?" she asked of Michael.
Lord Denningham laughed shortly beneath his breath.
"The squire of dames is a pleasant role to fill—and a safe one," he observed with another sneer.
Michael drew himself up proudly.
"Lord Denningham will find me ready enough to fill another, anon," he retorted.
The young nobleman toyed with a ribbon about his neck.
"And that?" he scoffed.