‘Insult him!’ cried Richard. Peebles’ presence, and the near neighbourhood of his lordship, gave him some sense of security, and Dulcie’s obvious sympathy with the object of his antagonism enraged him beyond all control. ‘Insult him! By the powers! Ask him who and what he is, and then you’ll know what right he has to be in your company, or in the company of any young lady.’
The anger half faded from Desmond’s face, and gave way to something of a look of astonishment.
‘Who and what I am?’ he repeated. ‘Sure, I’m Desmond Macartney.’
Richard repeated the name, and gave a scornful laugh.
‘And who has anything to say against me? I’m as good a gentleman as yourself.’
‘That’s a lie,’ said Richard. ‘You’re a pauper, dependent on my uncle’s charity for bread.’
Peebles let out a slow growl of remonstrance and warning, through which Dulcie’s voice sounded like the clear note of a flute through the scraping of a violoncello.
‘For shame!’ she cried, her cheeks burning with a hot flush of generous indignation.
‘Shame!’ cried Richard. ‘If there’s any shame, it’s there!’ He pointed his finger straight at Desmond.
‘Hold your fool’s tongue!’ said Peebles gruffly.