Meanwhile the rest had summoned several of the regimental servants to help in getting Rockley from the room; but he resisted till, seeing that his case was hopeless, he suddenly exclaimed:
“Well, then, I’ll go, if you’ll let me propose one more toast.”
“No, no!” was chorused.
“Then I shan’t go,” cried Rockley; “I’ll stop and see it out.”
“Let him give a toast,” said Sir Harry, “and then he’ll go. On your honour, Rockley?”
“On my honour,” he said: and he seemed to have grown suddenly sober. “Fill, gentlemen. The toast is a lady—not Miss Denville, since it offends Colonel Mellersh. I will give you the health of a lady who has long been one of my favourites. Her health even that arch sharper will not refuse to drink—my mistress, Cora Dean.”
In rapid succession, and in the midst of a deep silence, the claret in Colonel Mellersh’s glass, and the glass itself, were dashed in Major Rockley’s face.
Rockley uttered a howl of rage that did not seem to be human; and he would have sprung at Mellersh’s throat had he not been restrained, while the latter remained perfectly calm.
“There is no need for us to tear ourselves like brute beasts, gentlemen,” he said. “Major Rockley shall have the pleasure of shooting the arch sharper—myself—where you will arrange—to-morrow morning; but before I leave I beg to say that Miss Dean is a lady whom I hold in great honour, and any insult to her is an insult to me.”
“Loose me, Bray. Let me get at the cowardly trickster and cheat,” yelled Rockley. “He shall not leave here without my mark upon him. Do you hear? Loose me. He shall not go.”