They tried to pacify him, but his violent temper blazed through their words. He looked madman enough as he spat his fury over the shoulders of those who held him back. But for the inevitable steel, the scene might have been ridiculous.
“Will you fight?”
“I am at your service, my lord.”
“Come then, draw! Clear the room. Howard, you are my second.”
Hortense’s voice intervened with imperious feeling.
“Gentlemen, not in my house.”
Stephen Gore had pushed through and stood beside his son.
“Take me, Jack; keep cool, boy; the fool’s mad.”
“In the park, then.”
“Lud! but it’s raining—torrents,” said some one, peering through the window.