“Papa has been duped, and everybody,” said Elaine. “Papa’s French wine——”
“They swore to me in Flanders I should find a real dragon here,” he continued, raging up and down, and giving to the young lady no part of his attention. She began to fear he was not thinking of her.
“Geoffrey——” she ventured.
“They swore it. They had invited me to hunt a dragon with them in Flanders,—Count Faux Pas and his Walloons. We hunted day and night, and the quest was barren. They then directed me to this island of Britain, in which they declared a dragon might be found by any man who so desired. They lied in their throats. I have come leagues for nothing.” Here he looked viciously at the distant hide of the crocodile. “But I shall slay the monk,” he added. “A masquerading caitiff! Lying varlets! And all for nothing! The monk shall die, however.”
“Have you come for nothing, Geoffrey?” murmured Elaine.
“Three years have I been seeking dragons in all countries, chasing deceit over land and sea. And now once more my dearest hope falls empty and stale. Why, what’s this?” A choking sound beside him stopped the flow of his complaints.
“Oh, Geoffrey,—oh, miserable me!” The young lady was dissolved in tears.
“Elaine—dearest—don’t.”
“You said you had come for n—nothing, and it was all st—stale.”
“Ha, I am a fool, indeed! But it was the Dragon, dearest. I had made so sure of an honest one in this adventure.”