"Beverley," said the Viscount, staring wide-eyed, "are you mad?"
"No," Barnabas retorted, "but I take you to be an honorable man, my
Lord."
The Viscount sprang to his feet, clenched his fists, then took two or three turns across the room.
"Sir," said he, in his iciest tones, "you presume too much on my friendship."
"My Lord," said Barnabas, "with your good leave I'll ring for my servant." Which he did, forthwith.
"Sir," said the Viscount, pale and stern, and with folded arms, "your remark was, I consider, a direct reflection upon my honor."
"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his breeches, "your honor is surely your friend's, also?"
"Sir," said the Viscount, with arms still folded, and sitting very upright on the bed, "were I to—call you out for that remark I should be only within my rights."
"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his shirt, "were you to call from now till doomsday—I shouldn't come."
"Then, sir," said the Viscount, cold and sneering, "a whip, perhaps,—or a cane might—"