Second and surgeon sprang to the side of the wounded man; but Lord Claud said quite quietly: 

“’Tis no mortal wound.  He has not got his deserts this time.  Are you satisfied, gentlemen, or do you want more with us?”

The second looked up at Tom’s stalwart figure, hesitated a moment, and then professed that he desired to carry matters no further.

Lord Claud handed the rapiers to Tom, coolly resumed his discarded garments, took off his hat with a courtly bow, and walked off with his customary air of easy grace.

“Come, Tom,” he said, “we have managed that well.  The brute will not die, but will only keep his bed a while, and doubtless rise to trouble us again in days to come.  They say he has never felt a wound before, and boasts himself invulnerable.  He will little relish the lesson he has had today.  But he will never forget or forgive; so have a caution when he is your neighbour in any company.  He will rail at his second for not pinking you; but ’twas his own words that daunted the man.  He thought he saw in you a veritable son of the forest, terrible in wrath, invincible in skill—­” and Lord Claud suddenly threw back his head and began to laugh unrestrainedly.

“I did not understand him,” quoth Tom.

“Marry, no—­and no need you should!  You had better not understand too much of the things you see and hear in the world, honest Tom.  And now let us to a more hearty breakfast, and back again to town.  I must show myself today with a lordly grace, and prove to all the world that I need shrink from no man’s gaze.  As for yon black bull, be sure he will breathe no word of this thing.  It would ill mate with his pride for the world to know that he had been spitted like a capon by one whom he has dared to gibe at as the white hind of the forest!”

Lord Claud’s mood had completely changed.  He was gay and merry, and eager after pleasure.  He took Tom hither and thither to half a dozen fine houses, where the ladies gazed with a certain awestruck admiration at this “untamed son of the woods,” as it pleased Lord Claud to call him, whilst they loaded with favours the brilliant young spark, who seemed, when in the mood, to have power to win all hearts.

He was a “dear tormenting devil,” or a “mad fellow, but withal a true Prince Charming;” and just as he talked sound sense and politics with the poet yesterday, so now he beat even the finest of the ladies and their beaux at high-flown nonsense about goddesses and heroes, and the Arcadian bowers where they made a pretence of living and moving.

At the play, to which they went later, he moved from box to box, from tier to tier, taking snuff with the men, saying charming nothings to the ladies; the centre always of a laughing throng, whose proximity must surely have been distressful to any persons so unfashionable as to desire to listen to what the actors were saying.  He even went behind and upon the stage, as spectators were still permitted to do, although there was less of this confusion than a few years before; and he was eagerly welcomed wherever he appeared.