"Mademoiselle, you are degrading yourself!" said M. de la Chasse. "Come from his side."
There was no answer from St. John, save a quiet smile of power, and his retaining hold of Adeline. The Baron looked at M. de Castella, but the scene had really passed so quickly that the latter had found no breath to interfere. "Is it fit that my promised wife should thus be subjected to insult in my presence, sir?" he asked.
"Adeline," interposed M. de Castella, sternly, "return to your mother."
"She is my promised wife," said Mr. St. John to the Baron, "and I have a right to retain her here--the right of affection. A right that you will never have."
De la Chasse was foaming--presenting a very contrast to the cool equanimity of Mr. St. John. "I will not bandy words with him: I will not. Signor de Castella, when your salon shall be freed from that man, I will re-enter it."
Wheeling round upon his heel, he went out, banging the door after him. For a moment there was silence: St. John, his hold still on Adeline, remained at the far end of the room; Signor de Castella, half paralyzed with the scandal, was near the billiard-table; the rest were in a group by the crimson ottoman, Agnes de Beaufoy crossing herself perpetually, Madame de Castella the very image of dismay.
"Mademoiselle," spoke the Signor to his daughter, who was sobbing aloud in her terror and agitation, "do you dare to disobey me? I told you to go to your mother."
"She does not disobey you, sir, and never would do so willingly," returned Mr. St. John. "The fault was mine."
He released his hold on Adeline as he spoke, took her hand with almost ceremonious politeness, and conducted her across the room to the side of her mother.
"These scenes must be put a stop to, Mr. St. John," cried the Signor. "You received my answer this morning on the subject."