Gad, Beverley, what a perfectly reckless fellow you are!"
"But—how do you know of this?"
"From Clemency."
"So you've seen her again, Dick?"
"Yes, of course; that is, I took 'Moonraker' for a gallop yesterday, and—happened to be that way."
"Ah!" said Barnabas.
"And she told me—everything," said the Viscount, beginning to stride up and down the room, with his usual placidity quite gone, "I mean about—about the button you found, it was that devil Chichester's it seems, and—and—Beverley, give me your hand! She told me how you confronted the fellow. Ha! I'll swear you had him shaking in his villain's shoes, duellist as he is."
"But," said Barnabas, as the Viscount caught his hand, "it was not altogether on Clemency's account, Dick."
"No matter, you frightened the fellow off. Oh, I know—she told me; I made her! She had to fight with the beast, that's how he lost his button. I tell you, if ever I get the chance at him, he or I shall get his quietus. By God, Bev, I'm half-minded to send the brute a challenge, as it is."
"Because of Clemency, Dick?"
"Well—and why not?"
"The Earl of Bamborough's son fight a duel over the chambermaid of a hedge tavern!"
The Viscount's handsome face grew suddenly red, and as suddenly pale again, and his eyes glowed as he fronted Barnabas across the hearth.
"Mr. Beverley," said he very quietly, "how am I to take that?"
"In friendship, Dick, for the truth of it is that—though she is as brave, as pure, as beautiful as any lady in the land, she is a chambermaid none the less."
The Viscount turned, and striding to the window stood there, looking out with bent head.
"Have I offended you?" inquired Barnabas.
"You go—too far, Beverley."
"I would go farther yet for my friend, Viscount, or for our Lady
Cleone."
Now when Barnabas said this, the Viscount's head drooped lower yet, and he stood silent. Then, all at once, he turned, and coming to the hearth, the two stood looking at each other.
"Yes, I believe you would, Beverley. But you have a way of jumping to conclusions that is—devilish disconcerting. As for Chichester, the world would be well rid of him. And, talking of him, I met another rascal as I came—I mean that fellow Smivvle; had he been here?"
"Yes."
"Begging, I suppose?"
"He borrowed some money for his friend Barrymaine."
The Viscount flushed hotly, and looked at Barnabas with a sudden frown.
"Perhaps you are unaware, that is a name I never allow spoken in my presence, Mr. Beverley."
"Indeed, Viscount, and pray, why not?"
"For one thing, because he is—what he is—"
"Lady Cleone's brother."
"Half-brother, sir, and none the less a—knave."
"How—?"
"I mean that he is a card-sharper, a common cheat."
"Her brother—?"
"Half-brother!"
"A cheat! Are you sure?"
"Certain! I had the misfortune to make the discovery. And it killed him in London, all the clubs shut their doors upon him of course, he was cut in the streets,—it is damning to be seen in his company or even to mention his name—now."
"And you—you exposed him?"
"I said I made the discovery; but I kept it to myself. The stakes were unusually high that night, and we played late. I went home with him, but Chichester was there, waiting for him. So I took him aside, and, in as friendly a spirit as I could, told him of my discovery. He broke down, and, never attempting a denial, offered restitution and promised amendment. I gave my word to keep silent and, on one pretext or another, the loser's money was returned. But next week, the whole town hummed with the news. One night—it was at White's—he confronted me, and—he gave me—the lie!" The Viscount's fists were tight clenched, and he stared down blindly at the floor. "And, sir, though you'll scarcely credit it of course, I—there, before them all—I took it."
"Of course," said Barnabas, "for Her sake."
