Sir Roland Pommeroy made a grab at his arm. “Pel, I say, Pel! Steady!”
“Lord, he’s three parts drunk!” said Mr Boulby. “Here’s a pretty scandal! Pelham, for God’s sake think what you’re doing!”
But the Viscount, having shaken Pommeroy off, was already striding purposefully over to the other table, and seemed to have not the least doubt of what he was doing. Mr Drelincourt, looking round, startled to see who was bearing down upon him, let his jaw drop in ludicrous dismay, and received the contents of his lordship’s glass full in his face. “You damned little rat, take that!” roared the Viscount.
There was a moment’s shocked silence, while Mr Drelincourt sat with the wine dripping off the end of his nose, and staring at the incensed Viscount as one bemused.
Mr Fox, coming over from the other table, grasped Lord Winwood by the elbow, and addressed Mr Drelincourt with severity. “You’d best apologize, Crosby,” he said. “Pelham, do recollect! This won’t do, really it won’t!”
“Recollect?” said the Viscount fiercely. “You heard what he said, Charles! D’you think I’ll sit by and let a foul-mouthed—”
“My lord!” interrupted Mr Drelincourt, rising and dabbing at his face with a rather unsteady hand. “I—I apprehend the cause of your annoyance. I assure your lordship you have me wrong! If I said anything that—that seemed—”
Mr Fox whispered urgently: “Let it alone now, Pel! You can’t fight over your sister’s name without starting a scandal.”
“Be damned to you, Charles!” said the Viscount. “I’ll manage it my way. I don’t like the fellow’s hat!”
Mr Drelincourt fell back a pace; someone gave a snort of laughter, and Sir Roland said wisely: “That’s reasonable enough. You don’t like his hat. That’s devilish neat, “pon my soul it is! Now you come to mention it, ecod, I don’t like it either!”