"Now, Louis," said Patsy, "don't be a hog. You know you have often said that Stair Garland was as good a gentleman as anybody. Of course, he is fond of me—"
"Has he told you?" cried Louis, starting up and glowering with clenched fists.
"What is that to you, sir?" Patsy retorted, biting her upper lip, while her black eyes shrank to glittering dots under the long lashes through which she considered the speaker. "Attend to your own business, Louis Raincy. It is no business of yours what Stair Garland has said to me, or what he may say!"
"But it is—it is!" cried Louis, shamelessly, stamping his foot.
Patsy swept her skirts aside and motioned with her hand.
"Sit down, little boy!" she said, "you are not built to sing on that key. I can. Your grandfather could, or Uncle Julian—"
"He has killed a man in a duel—another man, I mean—I heard them telling about it to-day in the stables...."
Patsy grew pale.
"Not the Prince!... He will be outlawed. Perhaps they will send him to prison or cut off his head."
"No, no," Louis broke in; "not the Prince, though that is a pity too. I should liked have a whack at him—"