“Sir John Dering, or Derwent, or whatever name you happen to be using—last time we met, sir——” “To be sure,” smiled Sir John amiably, “I advised your lordship to take fencing lessons——” “Tee-hee!” screeched old Lord Aldbourne suddenly. “Hee-ha! Fencing lessons! Oh, smite me!” Sir John slipped nimbly aside just in time to escape my Lord Sayle’s passionate fist; then the two were borne apart amid an indignant whirl of embroidered coat-skirts. “Shame, my lord, shame!” cried half a dozen voices, while ladies screamed, moaned, grew hysterical, and made instant preparation to swoon in their most becoming attitudes. “O Ged!” screeched Lord Aldbourne above the hubbub, “I never saw such a dem’d disgraceful exhibition in all my dem’d life! Sayle, you must be mad or dem’d drunk, sir ... in a ladies’ drawing-room full o’ the dear creeters ... oh, dem!” And then, high-pitched, cold and merciless rose my lady’s voice. “My Lord Sayle, pray have the goodness to retire. Your manners are better suited to your country taverns. Begone, sir, ere I summon my servants!” In the awful silence that ensued, my Lord Sayle stared vaguely about him like one stupefied with amazement, then, striding to the open door, he stood striving for coherent speech, and when at last utterance came, he stammered thickly: “You ... you shall regret ... bitterly ... bitterly! Aye, let me perish but you shall!” Then, flinging up his uninjured arm in passionate menace, he turned and was gone. CHAPTER XVIII HOW SIR JOHN DERING WENT A-WOOING My Lord Sayle’s abrupt departure sufficed to break up the assembly; my lords and ladies having been very delightfully amused, interested, thrilled and shocked by the varied incidents of the last crowded hour, hasted to be gone, eager to recapitulate the whole story (with numerous additions, to be sure) to the astounded ears of those unfortunates who had missed so singular an occasion. Thus, while my lady bade adieu to her guests (each and all more her doting friends and obedient humble servants than ever), Sir John presently found himself alone with the Duchess in a curtained alcove, and stooping, took her so small hand ere she was aware to kiss it with such reverence that she actually flushed. “O heavens, sir!” she exclaimed. “Pray, why so—so infinite impressive?” “Madam,” he answered gravely, “despite the evil that is told of me, with more or less truth, alas, you were generous! Having the power to abase me, you mercifully chose to lift me up. Pray believe that my gratitude is yours, now and ever!” “Indeed,” said she, noting his earnest face, “you are strangely unlike the Sir John Dering I anticipated. Your—your reputation, sir——”