Sir Timerson Chank now bore down on my left and presently rounded to, delivering his broadside at short range; but I turned on him savagely, bidding him hold his tongue, which so astonished him that he obeyed me.
As for Dunmore, his shrill prattle never ceased, and he danced and vapoured and fingered his small-sword, till my hands itched to throw him into the blackberry thicket.
"If," said I, to Lady Shelton, "you are pleased to forbid me your door, pray remember, madam, that your authority extends no farther! I shall not ask your permission to address my cousin, Miss Warren—nor yours!" I added, wheeling on Sir Timerson Chank.
"Sir Timerson! Sir Timerson! Arrest him! You are a magistrate. Sir Timerson! Arrest him! Oh, I'm all of a twitter!" panted Lady Shelton.
But Sir Timerson Chank made no sign of compliance.
"Lord Dunmore," I said, "by what privilege do you assume to vapour and handle the hilt of your small-sword in Miss Warren's presence?"
"Sink me!" cried Lord Dunmore. "Sink me now, Mr. Cardigan; you should know that I have privileges, sir. I will have you to know that I have privileges, sir! Crib me! but I will assert my rights!"
"Your—what?" I replied, contemptuously.
"My rights! My privilege to defend Miss Warren—my rights, sir! I stand upon them, crib me, if I don't!"
"Shame on you!" cried Lady Shelton, panting angrily at me. "Shame on you—you mannerless, roving, blustering, hectoring rebel!—you—you boy! Oh, I'm all of a twitter! Sir Timerson, I'm all of a twitter!—"