rain and
mud, his coat set irreproachably across his fine shoulders, his hands
looked almost femininely white, as they emerged through billowy frills
of finest Mechline lace: the extravagantly short-waisted satin coat,
wide-lapelled waistcoat, and tight-fitting striped breeches, set off his
massive figure to perfection, and in repose one might have admired so
fine a specimen of English manhood, until the foppish ways, the affected
movements, the perpetual inane laugh, brought one's admiration of Sir
Percy Blakeney to an abrupt close.

He had lolled into the old-fashioned inn parlour, shaking the wet off
his fine overcoat; then putting up a gold-rimmed eye-glass to his lazy
blue eye, he surveyed the company, upon whom an embarrassed silence had
suddenly fallen.

"How do, Tony? How do, Ffoulkes?" he said, recognizing the two young
men and shaking them by the hand. "Zounds, my dear fellow," he added,
smothering a slight yawn, "did you ever see such a beastly day? Demmed
climate this."

With a quaint little laugh, half of embarrassment and half of sarcasm,
Marguerite had turned towards her husband, and was surveying him from
head to foot, with an amused little twinkle in her merry blue eyes.

"La!" said Sir Percy, after a moment or two's silence, as no one offered
any comment, "how sheepish you all look . . . What's up?"

"Oh, nothing, Sir Percy," replied Marguerite, with a certain amount of
gaiety, which, however, sounded somewhat forced, "nothing to disturb
your equanimity--only an insult to your wife."

The laugh which accompanied this remark was evidently intended to
reassure Sir Percy as to the gravity of the incident. It apparently
succeeded in that, for echoing the laugh, he rejoined placidly--

"La, m'dear! you don't say so. Begad! who was the bold man who dared to
tackle you--eh?"

Lord Tony tried to interpose, but had no time to do so, for the young
Vicomte had already quickly stepped forward.

"Monsieur," he said, prefixing his little speech with an elaborate bow,
and speaking in broken English, "my mother, the Comtesse de Tournay de
Basserive, has offenced Madame, who, I see, is your wife. I cannot ask
your pardon for my mother; what she does is right in my eyes. But I am
ready to offer you the usual reparation between men of honour."

The young man drew up his slim stature to its full height and looked
very enthusiastic, very proud, and very hot as he gazed at six foot odd
of gorgeousness, as repres