"Strong as a lion," said Lalage, waxing enthusiastic.

"And thirsty as a dozen," Peckover told himself.

"Carnaby, dear," his sister called sweetly, "I want you and Mr. Gage to be great friends. We are so already," she added caressingly to the unhappy Peckover; "more than friends, eh?"

"Don't seem to have lost much time," was her brother's not unnatural comment as he leered at their victim.

Peckover felt that if he did not take a firm stand at once he was lost.

"I quite agree with you," he replied boldly, addressing himself to the still thirsty Mr. Leo and ignoring the lady's blandishments. "There is no need to be in such a deuce of a hurry. You see"--he took courage to face his would-be enslaver--"I never set eyes on you till ten minutes ago."

Miss Leo's face changed swiftly from affection to resentment.

"Carnaby," she exclaimed, as an ill-boding light flashed from her eyes, "do you hear that?"

Carnaby, disturbed in his employment of draining the last drops out of the decanter, responded loudly, and, it seemed a trifle perfunctorily, "Never set eyes? All right. I'll take them out for you, and reset them directly."

"But I'm not the man you want," Peckover protested.

"n.o.body," roared Leo, "will want you much after I've shaken hands with you."

"I want Lord Quorn," Miss Leo declared resolutely. "Failing Lord Quorn, I'll take you."

"Well, but----" Peckover began to expostulate, when Mr. Leo rolled up and stopped him.

"Now, look here, my pretty d.i.c.key-bird," he explained grimly, "I'm gentle up to a point, because my sweet sister doesn't like bloodshed.

That poker," he pointed to the broken steel, "was his lordship's right arm; here is yours."

He caught up the shovel, and with a quick movement snapped it, throwing the pieces back into the fender with emphatic and dismaying clatter.

"Would you mind listening to me?" urged Peckover, regarding the object-lesson as unpleasantly superfluous.

But the man of strength disregarded his appeal. "I shan't hurt you yet," he declared with an under-lying threat, as he caught up the tongs and flourished them. He opened and closed them with a snap several times uncomfortably near Peckover's nose. "Both legs," he exclaimed, as, putting forth a mighty effort, he twisted and broke them, throwing them down with the same provoking clangour.

"I tell you," Peckover declared desperately, "this house is not mine.

It is not even at this moment Lord Quorn's. It is let furnished. I wish you would not interfere with the fire-irons."

"I'm not particular," Leo returned. "Can't stop to go into the ownership of fire-irons. You've seen what I'm capable of; now send 'em up to his lordship with my compliments."

"Lord Quorn is not at home here at present," Peckover insisted.

"A lord," said Lalage, "is at home anywhere."

The thought of the real Lord Quorn crossed Peckover's mind.

"Fine thing to be a lord," he reflected bitterly. "That poor chap has missed this fun." Then seeing Carnaby evidently on the look-out for fresh worlds, or, rather, domestic implements, to conquer, he turned desperately to Lalage. "I say," he proposed seriously, "can't we compromise this?"

The words, or at least one of them caught the ear of her brother, on whom possibly the sherry was beginning to take effect. "Compromise, you wombat?" he bawled. "Compromise my beautiful sister?"

"No, no, Carnaby," protested the beautiful one in question, with a look at Peckover which gave unmistakable point to her words, "how absurd you are."

"Compromise my precious sister, you slink!"

"No, no," Peckover objected, getting quite reckless between the two fires; "not your precious sister. How absurd you are!"

Next instant the giant had sprung at him and had him in his grip.

"Absurd? Am I? I'll wring your neck!"

"I mean settle," Peckover explained in a shriek.

"I'll settle you," was the retort, emphasized by a tightening grip.

"I mean settle with money," gasped the tortured one, hoping the magic word might have a relaxing effect upon the stricture.

But whatever might have been its effect upon his tormentor's mind when unclouded by alcohol, it had now the reverse of the desired result.

"Money!" he cried in maudlin indignation as he threw him off, "what is money where the honour of my lovely Lalage is concerned?"

Peckover had come to the inevitable conclusion that it would be worth his while to make some pecuniary sacrifice in order to get out of the difficulty. He would do well to jettison part of the cargo of his ship which had seemed to be coming home so nicely.

"You see," he explained, "much as my friend Quorn may admire your sister, he will be bound to marry a rich girl to support his t.i.tle."

"A peer wants a lot of keeping up, I suppose," growled Mr. Leo, taking out another bottle from the cabinet and shaking it viciously, demonstrating by his action that a bush-bully requires a certain amount of keeping-up as well.

"It stands to reason," Peckover replied. "Now," he added insinuatingly, "if a hundred pounds----"

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he was sorry he had uttered them. There was an explosion, a smash, and the little table with its contents was lying on the floor broken by a thump from the mighty fist.

"Hundred devils!" Mr. Leo roared.

CHAPTER XVII

So far as he dared, Peckover began to lose his temper. "I wish you would not smash things," he ventured to remonstrate. "I'll take your word for your muscle."

"My muscle prefers to speak for itself," was the retort.

"It need not talk with such a deuced lot of emphasis," Peckover rejoined. "What do you say," he added, returning to business, "to two hundred pounds?"

"Don't you wish I may take it?" exclaimed the fair Lalage with infinite scorn.

"You can't expect any more," Peckover urged. "Lord Quorn is a very poor man."

"Is he?" Lalage asked, becoming thoughtful.

"Certainly he is. Really not worth looking after. Now," he added, coaxingly. "Can't you put a fair price on your journey?"

"What price my glorious sister's broken heart?" bellowed Mr. Leo, truculently maudlin.