, but he lacked words, so stricken was he. And even
had he done so it is odds none would have heard him, for the late calm
was of a sudden turned to garboil. Every man of that company--with
the sole exception of Richard himself--was on his feet, and all were
speaking at once, in clamouring, excited chorus.

Wilding alone--the butt of their expostulations--stood quietly smiling,
and wiped his face at last with a kerchief of finest lawn. Dominating
the others in the Babel rose the voice of Sir Rowland Blake--impecunious
Blake; Blake lately of the Guards, who had sold his commission as the
only thing remaining him upon which he could raise money; Blake, that
other suitor for Miss Westmacott's hand, the suitor favoured by her
brother.

"You shall not do it, Mr. Wilding," he shouted, his face crimson. "No,
by God! You were shamed forever. He is but a lad, and drunk."

Trenchard eyed the short, powerfully built man beside him, and laughed
unpleasantly. "You should get yourself bled one of these days, Sir
Rowland," he advised. "There may be no great danger yet; but a man can't
be too careful when he wears a narrow neckcloth."

Blake--a short, powerfully built man--took no heed of him, but looked
straight at Mr. Wilding, who, smiling ever, calmly returned the gaze of
those prominent blue eyes.

"You will suffer me, Sir Rowland," said he sweetly, "to be the judge of
whom I will and whom I will not meet."

Sir Rowland flushed under that mocking glance and caustic tone. "But he
is drunk," he repeated feebly.

"I think," said Trenchard, "that he is hearing something that will make
him sober."

Lord Gervase took the lad by the shoulder, and shook him impatiently.
"Well?" quoth he. "Have you nothing to say? You did a deal of prating
just now. I make no doubt but that even at this late hour if you were to
make apology..."

"It would be idle," came Wilding's icy voice to quench the gleam of hope
kindling anew in Richard's breast. The lad saw that he was lost, and he
is a poor thing, indeed, who cannot face the worst once that worst is
shown to be irrevocable. He rose with some semblance of dignity.

"It is as I would wish," said he, but his livid face and staring eyes
belied the valour of his words. He cleared his huskiness from his
throat. "Sir Rowland," said he, "will you act for me?"

"Not I!" cried Blake with an oath. "I'll be no party to the butchery of
a boy unfledged."

"Unfledged?" echoed Trenchard. "Body o' me!