Richard listened, stared, and, finding Vallancey's eyes fixed steadily
upon him, attempted a smile and achieved a horrible grimace.

"What ails you, man?" cried his second, and caught him by the wrist.
He felt the quiver of the other's limb. "Stab me!" quoth he, "you are
in no case to fight. What the plague ails you?"

"I am none so well this morning," answered Richard feebly. "Lord
Gervase's claret," he added, passing a hand across his brow.

"Lord Gervase's claret?" echoed Vallancey in horror, as at some
outrageous blasphemy. "Frontignac at ten shillings the bottle!" he
exclaimed.

"Still, claret never does lie easy on my stomach," Richard explained,
intent upon blaming Lord Gervase s wine - since he could think of nothing
else - for his condition.

Vallancey looked at him shrewdly. "My cock," said he, "if you're to
fight we'll have to mend your temper." He took it upon himself to ring
the bell, and to order up two bottles of Canary and one of brandy. If
he was to get his man to the ground at all - and young Vallancey had a
due sense of his responsibilities in that connection - it would be well
to supply Richard with something to replace the courage that had oozed
out overnight. Young Richard, never loath to fortify himself, proved
amenable enough to the stiffly laced Canary that his friend set before
him. Then, to divert his mind, Vallancey, with that rash freedom that
had made the whole of Somerset know him for a rebel, set himself to
talk of the Protestant Duke and his right to the crown of England.