which was of a dark brown and very luxuriant; dark brown too were his
sombre eyes, low-lidded and set at a downward slant. From those odd
eyes of his, his countenance gathered an air of superciliousness
tempered by a gentle melancholy. For the rest, it was scored by lines
that stamped it with the appearance of an age in excess of his thirty
years.

Thirty guineas' worth of Mechlin at his throat was drenched, empurpled
and ruined beyond redemption, and on the breast of his blue satin coat
a dark patch was spreading like a stain of blood.

Richard Westmacott, short, sturdy, and fair-complexioned to the point
of insipidity, watched him sullenly out of pale eyes, and waited. It
was Lord Gervase who broke at last the silence - broke it with an
oath, a thing unusual in one whose nature was almost woman-mild.

"As God's my life!" he spluttered wrathfully, glowering at Richard.
"To have this happen in my house! The young fool shall make apology!"

"With his dying breath," sneered Trenchard, and the old rake's words,
his tone, and the malevolent look he bent upon the boy increased the
company's malaise.

"I think," said Mr. Wilding, with a most singular and excessive
sweetness, "that what Mr. Westmacott has done he has done because
he apprehended me amiss."

"No doubt he'll say so," opined Trenchard with a shrug, and had
caution dug into his ribs by Blake's elbow, whilst Richard made haste
to prove him wrong by saying the contrary.