“Emptiness, laddie? Hoot-toot—and yersel’ the joy o’ the leddies, the envy o’ the men! ‘The glass o’ fashion an’ mould o’ form,’ wi’ every young sprig o’ gallantry to copy the cut o’ your waistcoats? And you think, John, you think that my Lady Barrasdaile is actually carrying her threat into execution?”
“Well, these last few years, Hector, have proved singularly eventful to me one way or another. I have been involved so often in so many unsavoury affairs and had so many duels forced upon me that my reputation is grown a little threadbare, as you know, and myself notorious.”
“And now it seems you’ve another duel on your hands.”
“A duel, Hector? Egad, and have I so? With whom, pray?
“Losh, man, you should ken that weel enough.”
“Hum!” quoth Sir John, pondering.
“I caught but a snatch of idle gossip concerning you, John, and some English Viscount or other——”
“An Englishman, Hector, mark that! Ha,” mused Sir John, “I have a vague recollection of throwing somebody’s hat out of some window some time or other—but whose hat, or what window, or when, I cannot recall for the life o’ me. We must look into this, Hector. Let us summon the Corporal and hear what the perspicacious Robert hath to say.”
“What, Corporal Bob? He’s still with you, then, John lad?”