Thereupon, with two very polite bows, he left the parlor, alone. On entering the hall he was greeted by the sound of pawing hoofs, a negro's voice, and the steps of two men on the portico. The half-closed door was flung wide open, and Benedict Calvert, with Fairfield at his heels, entered the house. Claude stopped and turned to them.
"The devil!" said Sir Charles, his brows growing heavy.
"Monsieur, your eyes deceive you," responded de Mailly, pleasantly.
Calvert laughed.
"What's your business here?" demanded Fairfield in an ugly voice. He had been in no pleasant humor on his ride, a fact explained by his red eyes, pallid face, and slouching dress; and the unexpected presence of Claude was not calculated to render him better-natured.
"My business here, Sir Charles, concerns myself. However, if you are curious, I am about to offer myself to your cousin, Miss Travis."
Claude spoke with muscles tense, prepared to evade a sword thrust, for he himself wore no rapier to-day. To his amazement, his words for a moment produced no effect whatever on his quondam rival. Then, suddenly, while Calvert gazed at his comrade, Fairfield burst into a laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh, but it served its turn.
"What a household 'twill be! You and Deb, I and Virginia, Lou and her Puritan parson—for whom Benedict's come to plead. A fine match-maker y'are, Calvert. Why, monsieur, if 't'adn't been for him," pointing to the dark-browed ex-commissioner, "I would ha' called you out. As 'tis now, I'll—marry in a week, and be off for God's country, the Mall, St. Paul's, and White's as soon as a vessel will sail; and be damned to the colonies!"
"Hush, Charlie! Get to your room," whispered Calvert, laying a quiet hand on Fairfield's arm.
"I wish you good-afternoon, messieurs," added Claude, bowing.