"Nor about any village girl, as I have said."
"Then what was it about? or rather, about whom was it?"
"There is no reason why you should not know," answered Anthony, with coolness, "though that is a side matter. Fox told me that a suitable ornament for my cap was a coxcomb. That is why I struck him."
The old man laughed out. "You did well to chastise him for that."
"As you asked what girl's name was brought up, I will tell you," said Anthony. "It was that of Urith Malvine."
"Urith Malvine!" scoffed old Cleverdon, his eyes twinkling malevolently. "Not surprised at that light hussy bringing herself into men's mouths in a tavern."
"Father!" exclaimed the young man, "not a word against her. I will not bear that from you or from any man."
"You will not bear it!" almost screamed old Anthony. "You—you! make yourself champion of a beggar brat like that?"
"Did you hear my words?" said the young man, standing up. "No one—not even you—shall speak against her. It was because Fox sneered at her that I struck him; he might have scoffed at me, and I would have passed that over."
"And you threaten me? You will knock out my eye with your tags?"