against the table watching this unlooked for development of the drama.

“Messieurs,” he smiled, “an embarras de richesse. Never have I been so greatly honored. I pray that you do not come to blows on my account. One of you might kill the other, which would rob me of the honor of killing you both.”

Captain Cornbury until this time had been an interested and amused onlooker. He dearly loved a fight, and the situation was enjoyable; but here was the evening flying and his game of cards gone a-glimmering.

“Zounds, gentlemen!” he broke in. “A pretty business—to fight at the Fleece Tavern. Pleasant reading for the Courant—a fitting end to a comedy begun upon the street.”

[10]

[10]

“’Tis not your quarrel, Cornbury,” growled Ferrers.

“Nor yours, Ferrers,” said Heywood, coldly.

“You see, monsieur,” said Mornay to Downey, with mock helplessness, “there is no help for it.”

Cornbury swore a round oath:

“I’ faith, I wash my hands of ye. If fight ye must, quarrel dacently over the cards, man; but do not drag a lady’s name through the streets of London.”

Mornay turned to Cornbury. “It is true, mon ami—it is true.” Then, in a flash, gayly, aloud, almost like a child, he shouted: “Allons, time is flying. To-morrow we shall fight, but to-night—to-night we shall play at quinze. Monsieur Ferraire, you owe me three hundred guineas. We shall play for these. If you win, you will die to-morrow with a clear conscience. If you lose, monsieur, I’ll be your undertaker. Come, maître d’hôtel!—wine!”

[11]

[11]

CHAPTER II MISTRESS BARBARA DANCES THE CORANTO

Mistress Barbara’s deep-abiding dislike for Monsieur Mornay began even before the struggle for precedence between the French and Spanish coaches. Such an incident, grown to international importance, might have turned the heads of ladies with greater reputations than hers. Nor should it have 

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