Cary stops sulkily.

“You do not know all, Sir Richard, or you would not speak in this way.”

“I do, sir, all; and I shall have the honor of talking it over with Don Guzman myself.”

“Hey!” said the Spaniard.  “You came here as my second, Sir Richard, as I understood, but not as my counsellor.”

“Arthur, take your man away!  Cary! obey me as you would your father, sir!  Can you not trust Richard Grenville?”

“Come away, for God’s sake!” says poor Arthur, dragging Cary’s sword from him; “Sir Richard must know best!”

So Cary is led off sulking, and Sir Richard turns to the Spaniard,

“And now, Don Guzman, allow me, though much against my will, to speak to you as a friend to a friend.  You will pardon me if I say that I cannot but have seen last night’s devotion to—­”

“You will be pleased, senor, not to mention the name of any lady to whom I may have shown devotion.  I am not accustomed to have my little affairs talked over by any unbidden counsellors.”

“Well, senor, if you take offence, you take that which is not given.  Only I warn you, with all apologies for any seeming forwardness, that the quest on which you seem to be is one on which you will not be allowed to proceed.”

“And who will stop me?” asked the Spaniard, with a fierce oath.

“You are not aware, illustrious senor,” said Sir Richard, parrying the question, “that our English laity look upon mixed marriages with full as much dislike as your own ecclesiastics.”

“Marriage, sir?  Who gave you leave to mention that word to me?”

Sir Richard’s brow darkened; the Spaniard, in his insane pride, had forced upon the good knight a suspicion which was not really just.

“Is it possible, then, Senor Don Guzman, that I am to have the shame of mentioning a baser word?”

“Mention what you will, sir.  All words are the same to me; for, just or unjust, I shall answer them alike only by my sword.”

“You will do no such thing, sir.  You forget that I am your host.”

“And do you suppose that you have therefore a right to insult me?  Stand on your guard, sir!”

Grenville answered by slapping his own rapier home into the sheath with a quiet smile.

“Senor Don Guzman must be well enough aware of who Richard Grenville is, to know that he may claim the right of refusing duel to any man, if he shall so think fit.”

“Sir!” cried the Spaniard, with an oath, “this is too much!  Do you dare to hint that I am unworthy of your sword?  Know, insolent Englishman, I am not merely a De Soto, though that, by St. James, were enough for you or any man.  I am a Sotomayor, a Mendoza, a Bovadilla, a Losada, a—­sir!  I have blood royal in my veins, and you dare to refuse my challenge?”