What ?" "Nay, I'll vouch for that!" rejoined Marguerite, "Sir Percy has a British accent you could cut with a knife." "Monsieur," interposed the Vicomte earnestly, and in still more broken English, "I fear you have not understand.

I offer you the only posseeble reparation among gentlemen." "What the devil is that ?" asked Sir Percy, blandly.
"My sword, Monsieur," replied the Vicomte, who, though still bewildered, was beginning to lose his temper.
"You are a sportsman, Lord Tony," said Marguerite, merrily; "ten to one on the little bantam." But Sir Percy was staring sleepily at the Vicomte for a moment or two, through his partly closed heavy lids, then he smothered another yawn, stretched his long limbs, and turned leisurely away.
"Lud love you, sir," he muttered good-humouredly, "demmit, young man, what's the good of your sword to me ?" What the Vicomte thought and felt at that moment, when that long-limbed Englishman treated him with such marked insolence, might fill volumes of sound reflections.

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