“Superior!” raged out Fred. “I have horsewhipped a vile roué for the blow he struck me, and ten times as much for—Keep off!” he roared, as Colonel Mellersh and Linnell joined the group.
“I shall hold you till a picket comes from the barracks, sir, to take you in arrest,” cried Lord Carboro’ sternly.
Fred Denville did not attempt to wrest his arm away, but smiled half contemptuously at the padded, made-up old nobleman, and gave the whip a lash through the air as he stared hard at Rockley, who was white with rage, but talked to him who held his arm.
“Look here, my lord,” he said, “is it amongst your set a social sin for a man to horsewhip the blackguard who insults his sister?”
“No,” said Lord Carboro’ stoutly; “but you have struck your superior officer.”
“I have thrashed the scoundrel who would have dragged my sister in the mire could he have had his way. It was my last act as a free man, and thank God I have had the chance.”
“James Bell,” cried Sir Matthew Bray, “I arrest you. Give up that whip.”
“Touch me if you dare,” roared Fred. “Stand back, or I’ll kill you.”
“Private Bell—”
“Damn Private Bell!” cried the young man fiercely. “My name is Frederick Denville, and I am a gentleman.”