"That also I may do some day, madam!" flashed Prince Wasp, stirred to quick irritation. "But in the meantime, Princess Joan, does it please you to signify when you will receive your husband?"
"No! no! no!" whispered the Sparhawk in great perturbation.
The Princess Margaret pointed to the door.
"Go!" she said. "I myself will signify to my brother when he can wait upon the Princess."
"My Lady Margaret," the Muscovite purred in answer, "think you it is wise thus to encourage rebellion in the most sacred relations of life?"
The Princess Margaret trilled into merriest laughter and reached back a hand to take Joan's fingers in hers protectingly.
"The homily of the most reverend churchman, Prince Ivan of Muscovy, upon matrimony; Judas condemning treachery, Satan rebuking sin, were nothing to this!"
With all his faults the Prince had humour, the humour of a torture scene in some painted monkish Inferno.
"Agreed," he said, smiling; "and what does the Princess Margaret protecting that pale shrinking flower, Joan of the Sword Hand, remind you of?"
"That the room of Prince Ivan is more welcome to ladies than his company!" retorted Margaret of Courtland, still holding the Sparhawk's hand between both of hers, and keeping her angry eyes and petulant flower face indignantly upon the intruder.