the Mohawks--"

"Damn you, will you hold your silly tongue?" she cried, and rose to
launch the glass, but I sprang to my feet, horrified and astounded, arm
outstretched.

"Ruyven," I said, sharply, "is it you who fling such a taunt to shame
your own kin? If there is aught of impropriety in what this man Sir John
has done, is it not our affair with him in place of a silly gibe
at Dorothy?"

"I ask pardon," stammered Ruyven; "had there been impropriety in what
that fool, Sir John, did I should not have spoke, but have acted long
since, Cousin Ormond."

"I'm sure of it," I said, warmly. "Forgive me, Ruyven."

"Oh, la!" said Dorothy, her lips twitching to a smile, "Ruyven only said
it to plague me. I hate that baronet, and Ruyven knows it, and harps
ever on a foolish drinking-bout where all fell to the table, even Walter
Butler, and that slow adder Sir John among the first. And they do say,"
she added, with scorn, "that the baronet did find one of my old shoon
and filled it to my health--damn him!--"

"Dorothy!" I broke in, "who in Heaven's name taught you such shameful
oaths?"

"Oaths?" Her face burned scarlet. "Is it a shameful oath to say 'Damn
him'?"