“Thank you,” Royda retorted scornfully. “You are very kind, so kind that your kindness is an insult. You shall fight me, Philippa Harlberg.”
“I will not.”
“But you shall. Or at least I will fight you, and if you do not choose to defend yourself——”
Philippa looked at the girl standing before her in the white heat of passion, impatiently bending the light rapier in her hands. The situation was absurd and yet serious. Philippa had quite her sex’s share of courage when it came to the point of action, but she felt utterly nonplussed by the extraordinary turn the night’s events had taken. She was practically a prisoner, alone with a girl whose naturally excitable nature was inflamed almost to madness against her.
“A duel is ridiculous, monstrous,” she protested. “I am ready to give you any other satisfaction.”
“What satisfaction?” Royda broke in passionately. “When two men love the same woman they fight. When two women love the same man——”
“But we do not,” Philippa interrupted. “I hate him.”
Royda gave an incredulous laugh. “You hate Aubray Zarka? Well, then one of us loves him and he loves the other. That is enough.”
“Because he won’t care for you I am to fight you?”
“Yes,” Royda answered savagely between her teeth, as though slung by the taunt, pushing with the point of her sword the other on the floor towards Philippa.