THE FLEECE TAVERN
colloquy, and, seizing Heywood by the arm, dragged him back to the window-seat.
“’Tis not your quarrel, Heywood,” he began.
But Sir Henry shook himself free of Ferrers, and they both faced Monsieur Mornay, who, somewhat languidly, but with a polite tolerance, stood leaning 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.”
9
