Sir Perseus, angered and bewildered, gave a short laugh.
“You’ve lived too long in France, sir, or you would know that Sir John Dalrymple’s wife is no better than the rest of his family—and that Tom Wharton—”
Mr. Wedderburn rose so abruptly that Sir Perseus sprang also to his feet, like a man suddenly seeing danger.
“What of Mr. Wharton?” demanded Mr. Wedderburn softly.
“What are these demands?” cried Sir Perseus hotly. “Why are you championing the Whigs?”
“No matter for that,” interrupted the other. “I ask you—what of Mr. Wharton?”
Sir Perseus shrugged his shoulders.
“Sir, you want it put too plainly—what of my Lady Sunderland and Mr. Sidney belike, you’ve heard that tale—even in France? And the part the Earl takes—a common situation among these canting Whigs.”
Mr. Wedderburn came a step nearer.
“Do you couple that woman’s name with that of Lady Dalrymple,” he said unsteadily. “Even in your foul libels?”