I turned to the young baronet. And here I expected trouble.
“Sir Rupert Courtenay,” I said quietly, “it is your turn!”
For a moment he hesitated, and I saw a quick glance pass between him and my lady. Then, to my surprise, he gave a light laugh and raised his glass.
“I drink to the king!” he cried clearly, with a defiant look at me.
I noted mentally his reservation, and I knew whom he meant. But it was not my cue to quarrel with him. I was more than content with my victory.
“Good!” I said aloud, following his example. “That is sufficient, sir!” and I replaced my glass upon the table. “I will not detain you longer, gentlemen,” I added. “I have already said that for reasons of my own I am willing to overlook your presence here. Whether I take further steps in the matter will depend entirely upon your future conduct. But for the present, gentlemen, there is the door. I should recommend you to take your departure with all speed. The night air is somewhat chilly!”
And they needed no further urging. Without a word the stout man replaced his wig upon his head and, catching up his hat, started for the door. Perhaps he feared that I might yet repent my clemency. And the colonel was not slow to follow his example. True, he had the decency first to turn to my lady, as if to make his adieux; but one glance at her rigid figure and burning eyes was sufficient for him.
“This comes of having a woman in it,” he said shortly, turning on his heel and leaving the room.
I glanced at my lady. Her head was bent. I could not see her face. Suddenly, with a quick, defiant movement she upraised it, tossing the hair from her forehead.
“Cousin Rupert,” she cried proudly, “your arm!”