The red blood poured into George’s face at this, and his angry eyes seemed to emit blue sparks. Lance, who was really nothing but a servant, daring to speak to him like that! He straightened himself up and, in a manner that showed he had not belied himself, fixed on the old soldier a look of concentrated rage. Lance returned the look steadily. Though nominally a servant, he was a tried and trained soldier, and not to be awed by the wrath of this splendid stripling. As Lance continued to gaze at him the expression in George’s face slowly changed; the color died away, leaving him paler than usual, and his eyes softened. He said nothing, but after a pause, which meant a struggle and a victory over himself, he held out his hand for the foil. Lance, with a respectful bow, handed it to him and began the lesson. The old soldier found his pupil just what might have been expected--powerful, alert, with a wonderful quickness of the eye, and of great natural grace and agility, but impetuous and passionate, and quite unable to stand on the defensive. His temper rose, too, at the first lunge he made, and although he controlled it perfectly as regarded his words, never showing the slightest chagrin in his language, yet Lance could see that his pupil was angry from the beginning. It placed him at an immediate disadvantage. His foil flew out of his hand when he determined to grip it the hardest, and for the first time in his life he attempted a manly exercise and failed in it. This did not sweeten his temper, and when the lesson--a long one--closed, he was mortified and vexed to the last degree. Nevertheless, he thanked Lance, and, seizing his jacket and hat, rushed out-of-doors, feeling that he must be alone with his wrath and chagrin. Lance put up the foils and masks with a queer look in his eyes. “He will learn something besides the use of the sword in fencing,” he said to himself. Outside George pursued his way along a path up the mountain-side, his rage cooling, and growing more and more ashamed of himself. He thought highly of Lance, and was troubled at showing before him so much anger over a trifle; for trifle it was he realized. An hour’s brisk walking brought his pulses down, and he presently retraced his steps down the mountain. He was not in the mood to observe much, though he walked back rather slowly. He reached the house at one o’clock, just as Lord Fairfax came out of his study to dinner. The table was laid as usual in the hall. Behind the earl’s place stood Lance, while Billy’s head just peered above George’s chair. “And how did you get on with your fencing-lesson?” was Lord Fairfax’s first question. “Very poorly, sir, I am afraid,” answered George, blushing a little. “I lost my temper, and felt as if I were fighting instead of exercising, and so I did not succeed very well.” Lord Fairfax laughed one of his peculiar, silent laughs.