“Oh, no!” she said faintly. “But you won’t — you won’t — ?”
“Lord, no!” he said cheerfully, drawing her towards the door. “Nothing for you to tease yourself about!”
She whispered his name beseechingly, but he said, in a low tone: “Hush! Not now!” and gave her a little push over the threshold.
Martin had picked himself up from among the shattered pots, and was furiously brushing the dirt from his person. The Viscount surveyed him sardonically. “Habit of yours — forcing your attentions on females who don’t want ‘em?”
Martin’s fists clenched, but he kept them at his sides. “You’ll meet me for this, my lord!”
“Tomfoolery!” Ulverston said shortly.
“You may name your friends! They will hear from mine!”
“Good God, how can I meet you?” demanded Ulverston. “I’m a guest in your brother’s house, you young fool!”
“It is not my house! You’ve knocked me down: do you mean to deny me satisfaction?”
“Y’know I’ve no taste for rodomontade!” said Ulverston. “You should be thanking me for having given you the leveller you were standing in crying need of!”