"Faith!" cried he, as the foils were lowered by common consent. "The lad hath a wrist, Jack, and a quick eye for distance—he should make a fencer one o' these days—with pains——"
"Gad so, sir!" exclaimed the Viscount, a little huffed, "I rejoice to know it!"
"And though his point wavers out o' the line like a straw i' the wind and his parade is curst inviting and open, still——"
"Let me perish, what d'ye mean, my lord?"
"Come again, Tom and I'll show you!" said the Major.
"Those are fairly large buttons on your waistcoat. I'll take the top four. On guard, Tom!"
Again the foils met and almost immediately the Major's blade leapt and the Sergeant counted "One—two!" The Viscount broke ground, then lunged in turn and the Sergeant counted again, "Three—four!" The Viscount stepped back, pitched his foil into a corner and stared at the Major in rueful amaze, whereupon Lord Cleeve laughed, and, clambering from the table, clapped him on the shoulder:
"Never be discouraged, Viscount," said he, "never be peevish, sir, in your place I should ha' fared little better. Few may cope with d'Arcy o' the Buffs—or Sergeant Zebedee for that matter!"
"Gad love me sir," answered the Viscount smiling, "'twould seem so."
"And now, man Jack, I'm for Sevenoaks on small matter o' business, moreover 'tis like my lady Carlyon will be thereabouts and young Marchdale promised to make me known to 'Our Admirable Betty.' Will ye ride with me, Jack?"