‘It won’t do for Miss Merion’s name to be mixed up in a duel,’ said Redworth.

‘Not if she’s to make her fortune in England,’ said Sir Lukin.  ’It’s probably all smoke.’

The remark had hardly escaped him when a wreath of metaphorical smoke, and fire, and no mean report, startled the company of supping gentlemen.  At the pitch of his voice, Mr. Sullivan Smith denounced Mr. Malkin in presence for a cur masquerading as a cat.

‘And that is not the scoundrel’s prime offence.  For what d’ ye think?  He trumps up an engagement to dance with a beautiful lady, and because she can’t remember, binds her to an oath for a dance to come, and then, holding her prisoner to ’m, he sulks, the dirty dogcat goes and sulks, and he won’t dance and won’t do anything but screech up in corners that he’s jilted.  He said the word.  Dozens of gentlemen heard the word.  And I demand an apology of Misterr Malkin—­or . . !  And none of your guerrier nodding and bravado, Mister Malkin, at me, if you please.  The case is for settlement between gentlemen.’

The harassed gentleman of the name of Malkin, driven to extremity by the worrying, stood in braced preparation for the English attitude of defence.  His tormentor drew closer to him.

’Mind, I give you warning, if you lay a finger on me I’ll knock you down,’ said he.

Most joyfully Mr. Sullivan Smith uttered a low melodious cry.  ’For a specimen of manners, in an assembly of ladies and gentlemen . . .  I ask ye!’ he addressed the ring about him, to put his adversary entirely in the wrong before provoking the act of war.  And then, as one intending gently to remonstrate, he was on the point of stretching out his finger to the shoulder of Mr. Malkin, when Redworth seized his arm, saying:  ’I ‘m your man:  me first:  you’re due to me.’

Mr. Sullivan Smith beheld the vanishing of his foe in a cloud of faces.  Now was he wroth on patently reasonable grounds.  He threatened Saxondom.  Man up, man down, he challenged the race of short-legged, thickset, wooden-gated curmudgeons:  and let it be pugilism if their white livers shivered at the notion of powder and ball.  Redworth, in the struggle to haul him away, received a blow from him.  ’And you’ve got it! you would have it!’ roared the Celt.

‘Excuse yourself to the company for a misdirected effort,’ Redworth said; and he observed generally:  ’No Irish gentleman strikes a blow in good company.’

’But that’s true as Writ!  And I offer excuses—­if you’ll come along with me and a couple of friends.  The thing has been done before by torchlight—­and neatly.’

‘Come along, and come alone,’ said Redworth.

A way was cleared for them.  Sir Lukin hurried up to Redworth, who had no doubt of his ability to manage Mr. Sullivan Smith.

He managed that fine-hearted but purely sensational fellow so well that Lady Dunstane and Diana, after hearing in some anxiety of the hubbub below, beheld them entering the long saloon amicably, with the nods and looks of gentlemen quietly accordant.