“From the rampart just now, Milordo, I saw you in close converse with my elder daughter. Perhaps that also is one of your national customs?”
“It is certainly not the custom for a man to turn his back when he happens to meet a lady whose acquaintance he enjoys,” said Armitage with spirit. Prince Christodoridi smiled grimly.
“With us, when a man is found talking with an unmarried girl, he marries her—without a dowry.”
“And that is a grave deterrent?” with an answering smile.
“If he refuses, he is found the next dark night with a dagger in his heart.” Armitage’s eyes followed his host’s hand, by a kind of fascination, to the longest of the long curved daggers in his belt, but like most Englishmen, he had a rooted objection to being driven into any course. Five minutes ago he had been seriously contemplating the possibility of marrying Danaë, now it was absolutely out of the question.
“I can only recommend you to change your customs, lord. They are unduly old-fashioned,” he replied deliberately.
“You have cast a slur upon my daughter’s name, and you refuse to take the only step that can remove it. I suppose you are thinking of the dowry?” with a sneer.
“The dowry makes no difference whatever, but I refuse to be coerced into marrying any woman on earth—even the Lady Danaë. But nothing is farther from my wishes than to cast any slur upon her. In fact—— But we are neither of us cool enough to discuss such a question at this moment, Prince. With your permission, I will return on board, and you shall hear from me.”
“Have I your promise that you will send a formal request for my daughter’s hand?”
“Certainly not,” replied Armitage, in the gentle, reasonable tone of voice which always led his opponents astray. “You are still trying to force a promise out of me, which is preposterous.”