“I fling the words in your face, my lord,” says the other; “shall I send the cards too?”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! before the servants?” cry out Colonel Westbury and my Lord Warwick in a breath. The drawers go out of the room hastily. They tell the people below of the quarrel up stairs.
“Enough has been said,” says Colonel Westbury. “Will your lordships meet to-morrow morning?”
“Will my Lord Castlewood withdraw his words?” asks the Earl of Warwick.
“My Lord Castlewood will be —— first,” says Colonel Westbury.
“Then we have nothing for it. Take notice, gentlemen, there have been outrageous words—reparation asked and refused.”
“And refused,” says my Lord Castlewood, putting on his hat. “Where shall the meeting be? and when?”
“Since my Lord refuses me satisfaction, which I deeply regret, there is no time so good as now,” says my Lord Mohun. “Let us have chairs and go to Leicester Field.”
“Are your lordship and I to have the honor of exchanging a pass or two?” says Colonel Westbury, with a low bow to my Lord of Warwick and Holland.
“It is an honor for me,” says my lord, with a profound congee, “to be matched with a gentleman who has been at Mons and Namur.”