Michael, for his part, was astounded at the lad’s air of mastery. He was aware, in some vague way, that dalliance of any kind was a fool’s game, and that the man with a single purpose assumes command by a law of Nature. "I dandled you on my knee, li’le Christopher, not long ago," he said, with his easy laugh. "My thanks, Michael. I stand higher than your stirrup now, and York needs us." Michael had an easy-going heart and a head that was apt to forget important matters; but he rose now, obedient to the baby of the Metcalf clan. He paused to kiss the lady’s hand, to murmur a wish that he might live to see again the only eyes worth looking into; and then he was a man of action once again, keen for the ride. Miss Bingham rose and swept them a grave curtsey. Then she glanced at Christopher. "If you have a fault, sir—and all paragons have—it is a seriousness that reminds one of the Puritan." She had drawn blood. It flamed in his cheeks for a moment, then died down. "I’m neither paragon nor Puritan—and no ladies’ man," he added, with a touch of downright malice. "So much is obvious. You lack practice in the art, but you will learn in time." Kit, in some odd way, felt youthful and ashamed. This girl, little older than himself, disdained his singleness of purpose, his fervour for the cause. "Oh, I leave that to Michael," he said, clumsily enough. She was tired of warfare and the siege, and bore Kit a grudge because he had interrupted the diverting game of hearts that she and Michael had been playing. "You are riding to find Rupert?" she asked, her voice like velvet. "He’s the Prince to you—a paragon indeed—no ladies’ man. Sir, when you find him, ask how it fares with the Duchess of Richmond, and see if his face changes colour." "It is not true," said Kit passionately. "How downright and fatiguing boys are! What is not true, sir?" "All that you left unsaid." Michael clapped him on the shoulder. "Good for you, li’le Kit! All that women say is enough to drown us; but what they leave unsaid would sink a navy." "Go, find your Prince," said Miss Bingham, with the same dangerous gentleness; "but, on your honour, promise to remind him of the Duchess. I should grieve to picture such a gallant without—oh, without the grace women lend a man." "Michael, we’re wasting a good deal of time," said Kit, disliking this girl a little more. "There’ll be time enough for nonsense when we’ve brought Rupert into York."