"The moth ever flits to the candle, and usually gets burnt," he said.
"Would not the lodestone be the more apposite simile?" asked Lord
Cloverton. "In that case the attraction brings no hurt, Baron."
"Time will show which is the best simile," was the answer. "He interests me, this Captain Ellerey."
"He interests the lady too, it seems," replied the Ambassador. "Indeed,
Captain Ellerey interests many people."
"I trust his courage is equal to his ambition," said the Baron with a smile. "There are others striving for the same prize, my lord, who do not easily accept defeat, and are content to pin their honor to the sword's point."
"Jealous," said Lord Cloverton to himself as the Baron turned away, still with a smile upon his face, but with a movement of his shoulders which suggested an angry bird ruffling its feathers. "He means mischief. Ellerey may find his hands fuller than he expects, if the Baron's weapon is as ready as his tongue. Sentiment compels me to wish my countryman victory, but politically—ah! a cunning thrust which would lay him aside for a few weeks would be very convenient to me, and perhaps not the worst thing which could happen for him." And Lord Cloverton went toward the ball-room.
The Countess and her cavalier had disappeared.
"Are you still watching the Ambassador?" Ellerey had asked, as she placed her hand upon his arm.
"No."
"Then let us get out of the crowd. Few people seem to know of the alcove off the ball-room."