CHAPTER V
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE
Her hand was in mine, my arm already around her waist, when the officer bowed before us. He had been but a dim figure in the afternoon, but now I saw him for a tall, slender man, somewhat swarthy of face, with black hair and moustache, and a keen eye, attired in the green and white of the Queen's Rangers. He smiled, but with a sarcastic curl to the upper lip not altogether pleasant.
"Your pardon, Mistress Claire," he said boldly, sweeping me with a supercilious glance, "but am I mistaken in believing this waltz was pledged to me?"
"By mistake, Captain," her lips smiling, her eyes steady. "It seems I had overlooked a promise made during the afternoon."
"Oh, indeed," he turned toward me, staring insolently. "The hero of the rescue, I presume."
I felt the restraining pressure of her hand upon my sleeve, and her voice replied calmly, before I succeeded in finding words.
"This is the gentleman who protected me from the mob, if that be what you mean. Permit me to present Captain Grant of the Queen's Rangers, Lieutenant—pardon my having already forgotten your name."
"Fortesque," I stammered, intensely hating the necessary deception.
"Ah, yes—Lieutenant Fortesque, of the 42nd British Foot."