"Doocid good tableau—haw!" he muttered.
"So—so this is the duty which prevented us from having the pleasure of your company at dinner, Captain Norcliff?" said Lady Louisa.
"A pressing duty, doubtless," added Berkeley.
"Whence this intrusion?" I demanded, perceiving the whole network of treachery at a glance. "Whence this intrusion, Mr. Berkeley?" I fiercely reiterated, while my heart swelled with passion at my equivocal position, and I felt that my life, certainly the loss of Louisa's love, might pay the penalty of my supposed, and, for aught I knew, alleged intrigue with a poor creature whom I simply pitied.
I felt that I was outwitted and overmatched by a cold-blooded, cunning, and sarcastic parvenu; one of those padded and perfumed military snobs, who are among her Majesty's worst bargains, and who excite alike the contempt of the soldier and the ridicule of the civilian. I felt, too, all the peril of my position, and almost quailed before the strange, wild glitter of Louisa's eyes, as she surveyed me. They wore such a smile as might have lit up those of Judith, when she writhed her white fingers in the curly pate of the sleeping Holofernes.
"Did you hear me speak, Mr. Berkeley?" I thundered out.
"Aw—aw——" he was beginning.
"He will absolutely fight for this creature!" said Louisa, "Poor Cora, I am sorry that you have to blush for your worthy cousin."
Instead of blushing, poor gentle Cora wept profusely, and knew not what to think; terror seemed to be her prevailing emotion.
"What am I to understand by all this?" I resumed. "You here, Lady Loftus, and you, Cora? Mr. Berkeley's visit I might expect; but your appearance here, ladies, and at this hour, is not involuntary. Speak—explain—or rather, sir, I shall seek another place and time, and if—as I too surely believe—this scene has been planned and developed by you, Mr. Berkeley, woe to you, for your life shall pay the penalty."