“I am not going to give it to you,” said Ernest.
“You shall give it to me.”
“Is this lady your wife?” asked Ernest.
“That is my affair; give me that note.”
“I shall not give it to you,” said Ernest, whose temper was rapidly rising. “I don’t know what is on it, and I don’t wish to know; but whatever it is, the lady gave it to me, and not to you. She is not your wife, and you have no right to ask for it.”
His cousin Hugh turned livid with fury. At the best of times he was an evil-tempered man; and now, inflamed as he was by drink and jealousy, he looked a perfect fiend.
“Damn you!” he hissed, “you half-bred cur; I suppose that you get your —— manners from your —— of a mother!”
He did not get any further; for at this point Ernest knocked him into the gutter, and then stood over him, very quiet and pale, and told him that if ever he dared to let a disrespectful word about his mother pass his lips again, he (Ernest) would half-kill him (Hugh). Then he let him get up.
Hugh Kershaw rose, and turning, whispered something to his friend, who had sat next him at dinner, a man about thirty years of age, and with a military air about him. His friend listened, and pulled his large moustache thoughtfully. Then he addressed Ernest with the utmost politeness:
“I am Captain Justice, of the —— Hussars. Of course, Mr. Kershaw, you are aware that you cannot indulge yourself in the luxury of knocking people down without hearing more about it. Have you any friend with you?”