_know_, the old chap!"

He left the room hastily, and she ran upstairs, her hands clenched.

It was as she expected: Théo had left the room, and Joyselle stood alone
by the open door, his face radiant with malicious, delight. "_Parti,
hein_? I thought he'd--What is the matter?" he ended hastily, staring at
her.

She went straight to him, breathing hard, her brows nearly meeting. "How
_could_ you do such a thing? It was abominable--hideous!"

"What was abominable?"

"To play that Wedding March! Théo had told you about--about him, and you
did it to hurt him. Oh, how could _anybody_ do such a thing!"

Joyselle put his violin carefully into its case.

"You are rude, mademoiselle," he returned sternly; "very rude indeed.
But you are--my guest."

And he left the room.

Brigit's temper was very violent, but she had seen in his set face signs
of one much worse than her own, and, with the strange unexpectedness
that seemed to characterise the man, his last move was as fully that of
a gentleman as his trick with the Wedding March had been shocking.

He was her host, and--he had left her rather than forget that fact.