“Oho! So it's like that, is it?” said Lord Robert, rising to his feet as if putting himself on guard.
“Yes, it is like that, Lord Robert Ure, because the woman who is slandered in that letter is as innocent as your own wife, and ten thousand times as pure as those who are your constant company.”
Lord Robert's angular and ugly face glistened with a hateful smile. “Innocent!” he cried hoarsely, and then he laughed out aloud. “Go on! It's rippin' to hear you, dear boy! Innocent, by God! Just as innocent as any other ballet girl who is dragged through the stews of London, and then picked up at last by the born fool who keeps her for another man.”
“You liar!” cried Drake, and like a flash of light he had shot his fist across the table and struck the man full in the face. Then laying hold of the table itself, he swept it away with all that was on it, and sprang at Lord Robert and took him by the throat.
“Take that back, will you? Take it back!”
“I won't!” cried Lord Robert, writhing and struggling in his grip.
“Then take that—and that—and that—damn you!” cried Drake, showering blow after blow, and finally flinging the man into the débris of what had fallen from the table with a crash.
The women were screaming by this time and all the house was in alarm. But Drake went out with long strides and a ferocious face, and no one attempted to stop him.