“Oh, if you’ve already published her as ‘yours’—with your power of publication!” Lord Theign coldly laughed,—“of course I trace the connection!”
Mr. Benders acceptance of responsibility clearly cost him no shade of a pang. “Why, I haven’t for quite a while talked of a blessed other thing—and I’m capable of growing more profane over my not getting her than I guess any one would dare to be if I did.”
“Well, you’ll certainly not ‘get’ her, Mr. Bender,” Lady Sandgate, as for reasons of her own, bravely trumpeted; “and even if there were a chance of it don’t you see that your way wouldn’t be publicly to abuse our noble friend?”
Mr. Bender but beamed, in reply, upon that personage. “Oh, I guess our noble friend knows I have to talk big about big things. You understand, sir, the scream of the eagle!”
“I’ll forgive you,” Lord Theign civilly returned, “all the big talk you like if you’ll now understand me. My retort to that hireling pack shall be at once to dispose of a picture.”
Mr. Bender rather failed to follow. “But that’s what you wanted to do before.”
“Pardon me,” said his lordship—“I make a difference. It’s what you wanted me to do.”
The mystification, however, continued. “And you were not—as you seemed then—willing?”
Lord Theign waived cross-questions. “Well, I’m willing now—that’s all that need concern us. Only, once more and for the last time,” he added with all authority, “you can’t have our Duchess!”
“You can’t have our Duchess!”—and Lord John, as before the altar of patriotism, wrapped it in sacrificial sighs.