“Ah!” said Sir Norman grinding his teeth. “Then you acknowledge it?”
“I acknowledge it—yes. What next?”
The perfect composure of his tone fell like a cool, damp towel on the fire of Sir Norman's wrath. It did not quite extinguish the flame, however—only quenched it a little—and it still hissed hotly underneath.
“And you dare to stand before me and acknowledge such an act?” exclaimed Sir Norman, perfectly astounded at the cool assurance of the man.
“Verily, yea,” said the count, laughing. “I seldom take the trouble to deny my acts. What next?”
“There is nothing next,” said Sir Norman, severely, “until we have come to a proper understanding about this. Are you aware, sir, that that lady is my promised bride?”
“No, I do not know that I am. On the contrary, I have an idea she is mine.”
“She was, you mean. You know she was forced into consenting by yourself and her nurse!”
“Still she consented; and a bond is a bond, and a promise a promise, all the world over.”
“Not with a woman,” said Sir Norman, with stern dogmatism. “It is their privilege to break their promise and change their mind sixty times an hour, if they choose. Leoline has seen fit to do both, and has accepted me in your stead; therefore I command you instantly to give her up!”