"Well," he said, "if you're so rough on scandal, you'll have to keep our friend Barnaby in order. What does his poor little American wife say to his goings-on?"
There was an awful pause in the room above.
"Susan," said Barnaby, "he's as deaf as a post. Put your head out and tell him as loud as you can what you think of me."
Somebody began to laugh; the rest followed; and there was no more awkwardness; his presence of mind had saved the situation. As he leaned out of the window with his hand on Susan's shoulder the Major's face was a study. Incontinently he fled.
"There!" said Barnaby, "we have routed the enemy. Let's get on our horses and pursue him. Hullo, who are these? A whole tribe without one sound horse among them."
The Duchess started back.
"Don't tell me it is my friend Wickes," she said. "I promised him weeks ago I'd beat up a little talent for his concert to-night, and I have never done it. For heaven's sake, somebody, volunteer! Is there a woman here who can sing in tune?"
"Do you sing, Susan?" said Barnaby.
"Oh, the man's affectation! Does she or does she not?"
She did not know what impelled her. Perhaps his carelessness; his unshaken attitude of amusement at a position that was—to him—so absurd.