“You will drink to her unknown or not at all,” responded Marlowe, with considerable animation.
“Then not at all,” returned Frazer.
The two men stared at each other as though the breath of a coming quarrel had touched their faces.
“Come,” exclaimed the actor, who thus far had remained silent. “This is a raw gust that bloweth. If the gentleman knoweth a lady, I warrant she is sweet enough for all glasses to be emptied in her praise and honor. But he has not said that he knoweth any. And, on the other hand, if the other gentleman hath some one in mind, whom he would not pledge in reckless sort, is that not good reason to let his lips go dry? Come, Dodsman, hast thou a box and dice?”
“Tug, the box,” said the landlord to the tapster.
“Is it to be at hazard?” asked Bartol.
“What you will,” answered the other.
“Set down thy mug,” he thundered to Marlowe, who seemed wrapped in other thoughts.
“And Count,” said the landlord, “I will set thy sword here against the wall.”
“Well, enough,” smoothly remarked the one addressed, who, adventurer as he was, at mention of the dice let all his thoughts of quarrel slip.