"He tried to murder my husband," went on Mrs. Croydon, every moment with more of the air of a stage-struck amateur. "He challenged him!" "Your husband?" the Count returned. "Eet ees to me thees teeme first know what you have one husband, madame." "I thought your husband was dead, Mrs. Croydon," Miss Wentstile observed, in a voice which was like the opening of an outside door with the mercury below zero. Mrs. Croydon was visibly confused. Her full cheeks reddened; even the tip of her nose showed signs of a tendency to blush. Her trimmings rattled and scratched on the silk of her gown. "I should have said Mr. Barnstable," she corrected. "He was my husband once when I lived in Chicago." The Count, perfectly self-possessed, smiled and stirred his tea. "Ees eet dat de amiable Mrs. Croydon she do have a deeferent husband leek a sailor mans een all de harbors?" he asked with much deference. Mrs. Neligage laughed softly, leaning back as if at a comedy. Alice looked a little frightened. Miss Wentstile became each moment more stern. "Mr. Barnstable and I are to be remarried immediately," Mrs. Croydon observed with dignity. "It was for protecting me from the abuse of an anonymous novel that he offended you. You would have killed him for defending me." The Count waved his teaspoon airily. "He have eensult me," he remarked, as if disposing of the whole subject. "Then he was one great cowherd. He have epilogued me most abject." Mrs. Neligage elevated her eyebrows, and turned her glance to Mrs. Croydon, who stood, a much overdressed goddess of discord, still in the middle of the floor. "That is nonsense, Mrs. Croydon," she observed honeyedly. "Mr. Barnstable behaved with plenty of pluck. The apology was Jack's doing, and wasn't at all to your--your _fiancé's_ discredit." Miss Wentstile turned with sudden severity to Mrs. Neligage. "Louisa," she demanded, "do you know anything about this affair?" "Of course," was the easy answer. "Everybody in Boston knew it but you." The Count put his teacup on the mantelpiece. He had lost the jauntiness of his air, but he was still dignified. "Eet was one _affaire d'honneur_," he said. "But why was I not told of this?" Miss Wentstile asked sharply. "You?" Mrs. Croydon retorted with excitement. "Everybody supposed--" Mrs. Neligage rose quickly. "Really," she said, interrupting the speaker, "I must have another cup of tea." The interruption stopped Mrs. Croydon's remark, and Miss Wentstile did not press for its conclusion. "Count," the spinster asked, turning to that gentleman, who towered above her tall and lowering, "have you ever fought a duel?" The Count shrugged his shoulders. "All Shimbowski ees _hommes d'honneur_." She made him a frigid bow. "I have the honor to bid you good day," she said, with a manner so perfect that the absurdity of the situation vanished. The Count drew himself up proudly. Then he in his turn bowed profoundly.