“Perhaps so,” said the host; “what was it, Captain Forester? I believe I did not hear you quite accurately.”
“A very simple fact, sir,” said Forester, coolly, “and one that can scarcely astonish Mr. MacDonough to hear.”
“And which is—?” said MacDonough, affecting a bland smile.
“Perhaps you 'd ask for a definition, if I employ a single word.”
“Not this time,” said MacDonough, still smiling in the same way.
“You are right, sir, it would be affectation to do so; for though you may feel very natural doubts about what constitutes a gentleman, you ought to be pretty sure what makes a blackguard.”
The words seemed to fall like a shell in the company; one burst of tumultuous uproar broke forth, voices in every tone and accent of eagerness and excitement, when suddenly the host cried out, “Lock the doors; no man leaves the room till this matter is settled; there shall be no quarrelling beneath this roof so long as Bagenal Daly sits here for his friend.”
The caution came too late—MacDonough was gone.