“You have taken an unfair advantage of us all to-night, Mr. Lane.”
“Havel? How?”
“By retreating into the picturesque clothes of another age. All the men here must hate you.”
“No; they only laugh at me.”
She was silent a moment. Then she said:
“What is it in you that makes you enjoy that which the rest of us are afraid of?”
“And that is——”
“Being laughed at. Laughter, you know, is the great world’s cat-o’-nine-tails. We fear it as little boys fear the birch on a winter’s morning at school.”
Eustace smiled uneasily.
“Do you laugh at me?” he asked.