“John Gore, my lord’s son.”
“Jack Gore; a good name for a gallant swashbuckler. The fellow pleased me; he has a backbone and a keen eye. It was like a scene out of a stage-play. And there is the distressed damsel, your daughter, watching to see her champion do his devoir.”
Anne Purcell glanced at Barbara and gave a shrug of the shoulders.
“If the fool had only had some sense!”
“If—yes—if!”
“The stubborn brat! To shut her eyes to a mere piece of play!”
Hortense looked thoughtful.
“Pardon me, but the girl is no fool; that is my belief. It was no sulky, stupid child that dared my Lord Pembroke to bully her.”
“No?”
“No. But a woman with pride, and a depth of courage in her that could make her dangerous in a quarrel. My Lady Purcell, I could swear that your daughter is cleverer than you imagine.”