Lord Savile meanwhile, with his hands thrust into his pockets and his face flushed, lounged nearer to the singer.
“A very pretty performance,” he said, with an insolent drawl, “worthy a tavern musician. By Jove, sir, the tune is pestiferous here; an Irishman and a cow-stealer are synonymous.”
Richard Trevor smiled, his gray eyes flashing dangerously.
“And English noblemen are often cowards, and liars to boot, sir,” he said in an undertone, his hand still on the guitar.
“I am at your service,” said Savile, in a passionate voice.
Trevor glanced warningly at Lady Clancarty.
“Elsewhere, my lord, with pleasure,” he said, still smiling, “I might add with joy.”
Lady Sunderland came in now with her guests; she had won at basset and was in high good humor.
“A song,” she cried, “another song.”
Her eyes sought Trevor and he bowed gravely.