He was for heaping up one Insult upon the other, lashing himself as it were into greater Fury still, when Mr. Betterton's quietly ironical laugh broke in upon his senseless ebullitions.
"Liar?—Scoundrel, am I?" he said lightly, and, still laughing, he turned to the Gentlemen who stood beside him. "Nay! if the sight of a Scoundrel offends his Lordship, he should shut himself up in his own Room ... and break his Mirror!"
At this, my Lord Stour lost the last vestige of his self-control, seized Mr. Betterton by the Shoulder and verily, I thought, made as if he would strike him.
"You shall pay for this Insolence!" he cried.
But already, with perfect sang-froid, the great Artist had arrested his Lordship's uplifted hand and wrenched it away from his shoulder.
"By your leave, my Lord," he said, and with delicate Fingers flicked the dust from off his coat. "This coat was fashioned by an honest tailor, and hath never been touched by a Traitor's hand."
I thought then that I could see Murder writ plainly on My Lord's face, which was suddenly become positively livid. The Excitement around us was immense. In truth I am convinced that every Gentleman there present at the moment, felt that something more deep and more intensely bitter lay at the Root of this Quarrel, between the young Lord and the great and popular Artist. Even now some of them would have liked to interfere, whilst the younger ones undoubtedly enjoyed the Spectacle and were laying, I doubt not, imaginary Wagers as to which of the two Disputants would remain Master of the Situation.
His Grace of Albemarle tried once more to interpose with all the Authority of his years and of his distinguished Position, for indeed there was something almost awesome in Lord Stour's Wrath by now. But Mr. Betterton took the Words at once out of the great General's mouth.
"Nay, my Lord," he said with quiet Firmness, "I pray You, do not interfere. I am in no danger, I assure You. My Lord Stour would wish to kill me, no doubt. But, believe me, Fate did not ordain that Tom Betterton should die by such a hand ... the fickle Jade hath too keen a Sense of Humour."
Whereupon he made a movement, as if to walk away. I felt the drag upon my arm where his slender hand was still resting. The Others were silent. What could they say? Senseless Numskulls though they were for the most part, they had enough Perception to realize that between these two Men there was Hatred so bitter that no mere Gentlemanly Bloodshed could ever wipe it away.