‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Dickie, now thoroughly amazed, ‘I never forced any attention on her—we were only larking. Rude? Brutal? Good heavens!—I only kissed her behind the hedge, and I’ve kissed her many a time before!’
Lucian became insane with wrath.
‘Liar!’ he hissed. ‘Liar!’
Master Richard Feversham straightened himself, mentally as well as physically. He bunched up his fists and advanced upon Lucian with an air that was thoroughly British.
‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I don’t know who the devil you are, you outrageous ass, but if you call me a liar again, I’ll hit you!’
‘Liar!’ said Lucian, ‘Liar!’
Dickie’s left fist, clenched very artistically, shot out like a small battering-ram, and landed with a beautiful plunk on Lucian’s cheek, between the jaw and the bone. He staggered back.
‘I kept off your nose on purpose,’ said Dickie, ‘but, by the Lord, I’ll land you one there and spoil your pretty eyes for you if you don’t beg my pardon.’
‘Pardon!’ Lucian’s voice sounded hollow and strange. ‘Pardon!’ He swore a strange Italian oath that made Dickie creep. ‘Pardon!—of you? I will kill you—beast and liar!’
He sprang to the wall as he spoke, tore down a couple of light rapiers which hung there, and threw one at his enemy’s feet.