He would have left the shed on the words, but Martin stood in his way. “Will you, my lord, name your friends, or don’t you care to pit your marksmanship against mine?”
“Oh, go to the devil!” snapped Ulverston. “Whom would you have me name? Your brother? Your cousin?”
Martin was for the moment nonplussed, but he recovered quickly, and said: “Mr. Warboys will be happy to serve you!”
“Thank you! I shan’t call upon him to act for me.”
Martin’s right hand came up like a flash, and struck him an openhanded blow across the cheek. “Does that make you change your mind, my lord?”
The Viscount, curbing his instincts, kept his own hands lowered, but he was by this time very angry indeed. He said: “Yes, that makes me change my mind! If no one else will teach you a lesson, Martin Frant, I will!”
Chapter 14
It was fortunate for the cordiality of the relations between Stanyon and Whissenhurst that before she had reached the house Marianne was met by Miss Morville, who had walked out to look for her. It was evident that Marianne was much discomposed, her bosom heaving, her eyes full of tears, and her cheeks whitened. She uttered the one word: “Martin!” in answer to her friend’s solicitous enquiry, and seemed inclined to fall into strong hysterics. Miss Morville needed no more to prompt her to convey Marianne upstairs to her own room, and to beg her to tell her the whole. The story which was poured into her ears was incoherent, and freely interspersed with self-blame. She unravelled it as best she might, and did what lay in her power to soothe Marianne’s fears. When, shuddering, Marianne told her of the brief fight in the shed, she could not help smiling a little, so very much shocked did Marianne seem to be. She apologized for this insensibility by explaining that she had so often seen her brothers at fisticuffs, and had so often applied raw steaks to their blackened eyes, that she no longer felt on this subject as perhaps she ought. She could even hope that the exchange of blows might have gone some way to relieve exacerbated tempers, but Marianne’s description of the scene, and of Martin’s mien when he picked himself up from the floor, soon put such comfortable ideas to flight. She knew his temper; she could imagine what his chagrin must be: her only dependence must be on Ulverston’s good sense.
“If they were to meet — and I the cause — !” Marianne said, wringing her hands.
“Well, they shan’t meet,” replied Miss Morville. “It would be most improper!”