“Nay,” he replied testily, “a man may not grovel to his foe.”
“Oh,” said Lady Betty, and she glanced at him archly, “is your reasoning quite sound, my lord?”
Savile bit his lip; he saw Lord Clancarty smile and brush a fallen leaf from his sleeve with elaborate care.
“Come, come,” interposed Mr. Benham, “let there be peace, since my lady wills it; and here, too, is young Mackie pining to mediate. My lord, we cannot quarrel before a lady,” and he spoke a few words very low in Savile’s ear.
Betty, meanwhile, stood between them, holding Clancarty’s sword in her hand; her tall young figure outlined in the heavenly morning sunshine, and the glory of the day in her eyes.
“To put up your sword is naught, my lord, unless there be peace,” she said, smiling ingenuously, “pshaw, what a petty quarrel! ’Tis like two women over a cup of tea or a new gown,” and she shrugged her shoulders prettily.
Lord Savile crossed over to Clancarty.
“Your hand, sir,” he said, and then, as he clasped it, very low, “another time and another place.”
“I am always at your service,” replied Clancarty with a scornful smile, and he took out his handkerchief and wiped the palm of his right hand.
The gesture made Lady Betty smile and bite her lip, though she had not heard the undertone.