Galliano was a privileged person, and his strictures and familiarities were received with mirth, and mock contrition. My Lord Kestrel went over to the window seat, and flung himself down upon it, demanding to be shown the Baiser de la Morte. Sir Anthony looked with great interest through his glass at Mr Rensley. “Well, well!” he said. “And have you been acquiring the Kiss, Rensley?”
“Bacchus! You accuse me of a sacrilege ze mos’ infamous!” cried Galliano. “I teach him only to keep ze head cool on ze shoulders. I sink he go to fight a duello. I sank ze gods I have not to see it. It would wring ze heart! Me, I am an artis’.”
My lord said with a wicked look in his eye: “I’d no notion you were taking lessons of old Galliano, Rensley.”
“I have now and then an hour with him,” Rensley answered, and seemed in some anxiety to be gone.
But Sir Raymond Orton leaned casually against the door. “Now and then being when there’s a fight brewing, eh, Rensley my buck?”
“Really, Orton! Is it a jest belike?”
“The most famous one, Rensley, and spreading all over the town.”
Sir Anthony spoke to Galliano. “We’d a mind to have the foils out, Gally, but I suppose you have Mr Merriot coming to you?”
“I do not know any Mistaire Merriot,” said Galliano positively. “I am at Saire Anthony’s disposal. Why should I have an appointment wiz a Mistaire I don’ know?”
“Oh, I thought ’twas a new fashion to take a lesson before a meeting!” said Sir Anthony idly twirling his eye-glass. “Now I see it is only Mr Rensley’s fashion. But what a disappointment for him to have this new pass withheld! Can’t you teach him your Baiser, Gally?”