A Blot on the Scutcheon

by Mabel Winifred Knowles

Lord Denningham had succeeded admirably; his adversary was ablaze with unrestrainable anger.

"Ah! you will prove your innocence. Of course, of course. Do not lose your temper, I implore you, sir. Only you will not deny that your father's murder was a matter of no surprise to you. And as your father's heir——"

"You will answer me for your insults, my lord—and at once."

"I am always at the service of a gentleman. Would you prefer swords or pistols?"

"Swords. On guard, my lord."

"As hot at fighting as in love-making. Aha! this mongrel blood! Come, if you will have it so; but I shall teach you a lesson, my friend. Afterwards——"

"Afterwards——?"

"I shall marry pretty Gabrielle Conyers and take to writing poems."

Mockery and laughter, meant to goad on his adversary to mad indiscretion.

But Michael Berrington was sobered already.