For answer the other laid down the paper, so that Sir James could pick it up if he chose.
“I see your old rival Montagu is to dance on air to-morrow. ’Gad, you’ll have it all your own way with the wench then,” continued Craven boisterously, the liquor fast mounting to his head.
Volney’s eyes grew steelly. He would have left, but the burly purple-faced baronet cut off his retreat.
“Damme, will you drink with me, or will you play with me, Volney?”
“Thanks, but I never drink nor play at this time of day, Sir James. If it will not inconvenience you to let me pass——”
With a foolish laugh, beside himself with rage and drink, Craven flung him back into his chair. “’Sdeath, don’t be in such a hurry! I want to talk to you about— Devil take it, what is it I want to talk about?— Oh, yes! That pink and white baggage of yours. Stap me, the one look ravished me! Pity you let a slip of a lad like Montagu oust you.”
“That subject is one which we will not discuss, Sir James,” said Volney quietly. “It is not to be mentioned in my presence.”
“The devil it isn’t. I’m not in the habit of asking what I may talk about. As for this mistress of yours——”
Sir Robert rose and stood very straight. “I have the honour to inform you that you are talking of a lady who is as pure as the driven snow.”
Buck Craven stared. “After Sir Robert Volney has pursued her a year?” he asked with venomous spleen, his noisy laugh echoing through the room.