“If you are going to say it now, let me know,” Adam interrupted.
She was blushing furiously. She did love him, just about as Rust had described, but he had never guessed it and was merely toying with the one absorbing and universal topic of the court.
“I—I am not going to say anything of the kind!” she stammered.
“Then that proves my case,” Adam announced, judicially. “I cannot compel you to say anything at all that is not already at the point of your tongue.”
“You—you are very rude,” she said, helplessly.
“So I have been told by Lady Margaret,” Adam confessed. “Here she is herself. Lady Margaret, we are having quite a discussion. Tell us, if a man tries to make a lady say she loves him desperately, is he necessarily rude?”
A superb young widow, who was gradually emerging from her mourning black, and who had come to the gathering with her father, halted in front of the two on the small divan and looked them over.
“Dear Lady Violet,” said the new comer, “your brother and Lord Kilkrankie are looking for you everywhere.”
“Oh, thank you, so much,” said the confused little lady, and without waiting for anything further she jumped up and fled from the scene. She was vexed at and distrustful of Lady Margaret; but she could not remain and give her battle.
The second lady took Violet’s seat, calmly. “What have you been saying of love to that little, brainless child?” she said. “You haven’t been making love to her, surely?”