‘It appears to me, Mr. Desmond Macartney,’ said Blake, with portentous, drunken dignity--‘it appears to me, sor, that a gentleman of the long descent and the high breedin’ of Lord Kilpatrick might have thought twice before inviting a man o’ my blood to sit at the same table with a low, dirty, six-an-eight-scrapin’ thief of an attorney. The back o’ my hand and the sole of my foot to ’m! the filthy reptile! I’ve left my mark on ’m, an’ I’ve spoke my mind of him, and ’twill be a long day ere he forgets Patrick Blake, of Blake’s Hall.’ ‘My uncle?’ cried Lady Dulcie in a tone of half amaze, half question. ‘Your uncle, Lady Dulcie!’ answered Blake. ‘’Tis not in that fashion that a gentleman of my figure behaves to a gentleman of his. ’Tis not at the head of a nobleman that I throw bottles, nor, sor,’ he continued to Desmond, as if the interruption had come from him, ‘’tis not him I’d call a dirty thief nor a filthy reptile, and that I’d have ye to know, sor.’ ‘You’ve been quarrelling with somebody at his lordship’s table?’ said Desmond. ‘I have, then! And if Dick Conseltine and that white-livered boy of his, and old Peebles--may the devil fly away with the whole boodle of ’m--if they hadn’t interfered and spoilt the sport, I’d have had the ruffian’s blood. By the lud, I’d have smashed him like an egg!’ He drove one powerful fist into the palm of the other with such force as to overbalance himself, and was only prevented by Desmond’s restraining hand from coming to the ground. ‘’Tis an insult before Heaven; ’tis an insult to ask a gentleman to put his legs under the mahogany with such a snake as that!’ ‘You had your legs under the mahogany a pretty long time before you found ’twas an insult, from the looks of you,’ said Desmond dryly. ‘Now, look here, Mr. Blake, ’tis not for a boy of my years to be after offering lessons in politeness to a gentleman of yours, but I’ll just ask you to remember that the host whose hospitality you’re insulting is this lady’s uncle.’ Blake’s ferocity vanished with ludicrous suddenness. He began to stammer apologies to Lady Dulcie. ‘And then, too, Mr. Blake,’ continued Desmond, ‘you’d claim the right to choose the guests at your own table--if you had one,’ he interpolated _sotto voce_; ‘and Lord Kilpatrick, or any gentleman, has the same right.’ ‘And that’s true, if the devil spoke it,’ cried Blake. ‘Desmond Macartney, ye’re a gentleman. Ye can carry a gentleman’s apology to a gentleman without demeaning yourself. Present my apologies to his lordship, and tell him that I’ll honour myself by presenting them personally when I hear that he’s got rid of his present company.’ ‘’Tis Mr. Feagus, of Ballymote, that you’ve had the row with?’ ‘Faith then, it is, and ye can tell him that if he has the spunk to stand up at twenty paces I’ll do sufficient violence to my feelings as a gentleman to honour him by lettin’ daylight into him.’ ‘Nonsense, Mr. Blake,’ said Desmond. ‘Men don’t fight duels nowadays.’