'A good man and true!' returned my lady, with decision; 'despite his sharp tongue and unprepossessing shell. He was hard on you, touching you on the raw, and you got the worst of it, and flew in a passion, and were rude, though you pride yourself upon your temper. You must make it up before you sit down to breakfast.'
Terence found his chief standing over his pony, a prey to violent agitation.
'My boy,' he cried out at once, 'I must have a blaze at that rascal!'
'What rascal?' asked the other, who, wounded by his mother's indifference, was brooding on his own trouble.
'There's but one rascal in the world, and his name's Clare! I'll make a window through him, I will, with sword or pistol, as suits him best. Go and tell him so.'
'Most obliging, no doubt,' said Terence, with a half-smile; 'but you must refrain this time, for my sake. Indeed, you employed language such as sure never before was used to a lord chancellor. If he survives your words, no bullet can affect him.'
'It's no use!' persisted the little man, shivering like an aspen; 'I shan't sleep until I shoot that rascal.'
But Terence passed his arm affectionately within his, and Curran perceived that there was something amiss with him.
'You have other duties, my old friend,' the young man sighed. 'Come, come--you must be dignified.'
'Is it I?' returned the other, rubbing his nose ruefully. 'I fear dignity is a robe which he who would box must lay aside during the sparring. Maybe, when the fight's done, he'll find that it has been stolen during the battle! A fig for dignity! I'd rather have a blaze.'