His cousin grunted like a pig. “You took an unfair advantage of me,” he said. “You could see I was a bit tight. In England we don’t think it’s sporting to knock a man down when he’s full of whiskey; but you Americans don’t seem to know....”
Daniel smiled. “I’m English too, you know.”
“Yes, in a way I suppose you are,” he grumbled, dropping into an arm-chair. “We’re both Lanes; but your mother was a Yankee, and you’ve spent half your life over there. You had no right to hit me.”
“I didn’t hit you,” said Daniel, with a broad smile. “I only shook you; and I’ll do it again if you don’t offer me a chair.”
Charles Barthampton stared at him, and, taking the cigar out of his mouth, blew a cloud of smoke from between his lips. “There’s a chair behind you,” he replied, rudely. “You can sit in it if it doesn’t make you stay too long.”
Daniel fetched the chair, and, placing it immediately in front of his cousin, sat himself down. “This is a bad start, cousin,” he said. “I’ve told you I’m sorry; but you know quite well it was your own fault.”
“I tell you I was tight,” he answered petulantly. “And besides, what right had you to be with Lizette? She belongs to the regiment.”
“She was good enough to have supper with me,” Daniel answered, and there was an unmistakable menace in his voice. “Please leave her out of the question.”
Lord Barthampton laughed. “I suppose you feel a bit struck on her this morning.”
Daniel suddenly rose to his feet; and his cousin, startled by the look in his face, sprang from his chair, and placed his hand on the bell on the wall behind him.