‘All right, Lady Dulcie,’ said Desmond, soothing her with his hand, and keeping his eye on Richard’s face.
The girl let the endearing tone and action pass unregarded. They stung Richard to fury.
‘You beggar!’ he cried.
Desmond made a step towards him; Dulcie clung to him, beseeching him to be quiet.
‘Don’t be alarmed, now,’ said Desmond, with his Irish blood dancing in his veins, and his heart all aglow with love of battle. ‘We’re only going to have a small civil kind of a fight, just to see how real he is!’
Peebles, who had entered the room unobserved, overheard these last words, and came between the combatants, ‘Master Desmond,’ he said, ‘I’m surprised at ye. Ye’ll no’ disgrace his lordship’s house by brawling in it, as if ye were in a tap-room or a hillside shebeen?’
‘Stand out of the way, if you please, Mr. Peebles,’ said Desmond.
‘That I’ll no’ do,’ returned the old Scot. ‘Ye’ll just be a sensible lad, as I’ve always thought ye, and tell me what’s the trouble. You’re the calmest, Master Richard—what’s a’ the steer aboot?’
‘I warned that ruffian,’ said Richard, ‘to avoid my company. He retaliated, as you see, and——’
‘You insulted him cruelly!’ cried Dulcie, with a heaving breast, and a glitter of tears in her soft eyes. ‘Never mind him, Desmond—come away!’