"Why interfere?"
"He insulted me!" said Barbara.
"My niece is--"
"Leave this to me, Sir John," said Rosmore, laying a hand upon his
shoulder.
"That's right, Rosmore, and leave me to my wooing," cried Fellowes.
"You cur! You shall repent this night's folly," said Rosmore.
"Excellent! Excellent! You should have been a mummer. This is glorious
comedy!" and Fellowes laughed aloud. "What! A hint of tragedy in it,
too!"
A naked sword was in Rosmore's hand.
"A woman's honour must be defended," hissed Rosmore.
"Gad! I'll not spoil the play for want of pantomime," cried Fellowes,
still laughing. "Why don't you all laugh at such excellent fooling?"
"There is no laughter in this," said Rosmore, and Fellowes' face grew
suddenly serious.
"This is real? You mean it?" he said.
"I mean it."
"Devil's whelp that you are!" Fellowes cried. "Between two scoundrels
may God help the least debased."
In an instant there was the ring of steel and the quick flash of the
blades as the light caught them.
Sir John had made a step forward to interfere, but had hesitated and
stopped. No one else moved, and there was silence as steel touched
steel--breathless silence.
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