knave's canting head. He caught up a weapon.

"This is a partisan. All you had to do when you got it inside a man was
to turn it round a bit, and the wound gaped and tore. This tassel is for
catching the blood and preventing it from greasing the handle. Here's a
beauty," he went on, taking a sword from the row he had laid out for
display, and holding it out for Katherine's inspection. "One of the pets
of the collection. A French duelling sword of the middle of the
eighteenth century." He gave a fencer's flourish. "Responsive to the
hilts, eh? Ah! It must have been good to live in those days, when you
could whip this from your side at a wrong done and have the life of the
man that wronged you. The sweet morning air, the patch of green turf,
shoes off--in shirt and breeches--with the eyes of the man you hate in
front of you, and this glittering, beautiful, snaky thing thirsting for
his heart's blood. And then--"--he stood in tierce, left hand curved,
holding in tense fierceness the eyes of an imaginary opponent--"and then
a little clitter-clatter of steel, and, suddenly--ha!--the blade
disappears up to the hilt, and a great red stain comes on the shirt, and
the man throws up his arms, and falls, and you've killed him. He's dead!
dead! dead! Ha! what a time to live in!"

Katherine uttered a little cry of fear, and grew pale. Viviette clapped
her hands.

"Bravo, Dick!"

"Bravo, Dick!" cried Austin. "Most dramatically done."

"I never knew you were such an actor," said Viviette.