“One moment, master,” she said loudly and peremptorily.  “Prince or whatever you may wish to call yourself ... ere you show me a clean pair of heels, I pray you to explain your presence here on Sir Marmaduke’s doorstep at ten o’clock at night, and in company with his ward.”

For a moment—­a second or two only—­the stranger appeared to hesitate.  He paused with one foot still on the lowest of the stone steps, the other on the flagged path, his head bent, his hand upraised in the act of re-adjusting his broad-brimmed hat.

Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him, he threw back his head, gave a short laugh as if he were pleased with this new thought, then turned, meeting Mistress de Chavasse’s stern gaze squarely and fully.  He threw his hat down upon the steps and crossed his arms over his chest.

“One moment, mistress?” he said with an ironical bow.  “I do not need one moment.  I have already explained.”

“Explained? how?” she retorted, “nay!  I’ll not be trifled with, master, and methinks you will find that Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse will expect some explanation—­which will prove unpleasant to yourself—­for your unwarrantable impudence in daring to approach his ward.”

He put up his hand in gentle deprecation.

“Impudence?  Oh, mistress?” he said reproachfully.

“Let me assure you, master,” she continued with relentless severity, “that you were wise an you returned straightway to your lodgings now ... packed your worldly goods and betook yourself and them to anywhere you please.”

“Ah!” he sighed gently, “that is impossible.”

“You would dare? ...” she retorted.

“I would dare remain there, where my humble presence is most desired—­beside the gracious lady who honors me with her love.”

“You are insolent, master ... and Sir Marmaduke ...”

“Oh!” he rejoined lightly, “Sir Marmaduke doth not object.”

“There, I fear me, you are in error, master! and in his name I now forbid you ever to attempt to speak to Lady Susannah Aldmarshe again.”

This command, accompanied by a look of withering scorn, seemed to afford the stranger vast entertainment.  He made the wrathful lady a low, ironical bow, and clapped his hands together laughing and exclaiming: 

“Brava! brava! of a truth but this is excellent!  Pray, mistress, will you deign to tell me if in this your bidding you have asked Sir Marmaduke for his opinion?”

“I need not to ask him.  I ask you to go.”

“Go?  Whither?” he asked blandly.

“Out of my sight and off these grounds at once, ere I rouse the servants and have you whipped off like a dog!” she said, angered beyond measure at his audacity, his irony, his manner, suggestive of insolent triumph.  His muffled voice with its curious foreign accent irritated her, as did the shadow of his perruque over his brow, and the black silk shade which he wore over one eye.