“The thought that she could never return your affection,” Herriard answered, as plausibly as he could.
“That,” Gastineau returned, with quiet incisiveness, “is a matter you may leave to me.”
The cool superiority of his tone stung Herriard, giving him the necessary spur to stand up to his dangerous adversary. “Understand, Gastineau,” he retorted, “that I decline to leave it to you.”
“You do?”
“As Countess Alexia’s affianced husband, I do—naturally.”
“Naturally!” Gastineau repeated the word with an infinity of mocking scorn. “You would. It was only to be expected. And, as the expected, I am prepared to meet it.”
“Very well,” Herriard replied. “We now know how we stand. I am, at least, glad you pay me the compliment of anticipating that I should not be ready to give up the Countess.”
“It is scarcely a compliment from my point of view,” Gastineau rejoined, with a vicious drawing back of the lips into the semblance of a smile. “If you were not a fool, Geoffrey Herriard, you would know better than to oppose yourself to a man who lets nothing thwart him.”
“We may be equally determined in this affair,” Herriard returned with restraint; “you to persecute the Countess, I to protect her.”
“Persecute?” Gastineau cried, with a short, high-pitched laugh. “Persecute is a strong word, Herriard.”