“If they were to meet — and I the cause — !” Marianne said, wringing her hands.

“Well, they shan’t meet,” replied Miss Morville. “It would be most improper!”

“Improper! It might be fatal!”

“I cannot suppose that either would be so stupid.”

“Not Ulverston, no! But Martin! In such anger! How can you tell what he might do?”

“You are right: I can’t tell,” owned Miss Morville, dispassionately considering it. “Well, there is nothing for it but to put a stop to a duel — if that is indeed what they intend, and I daresay it may be, for gentlemen have such nonsensical notions that one may believe them to be capable of any folly.”

“Oh, if one could but prevent it! But they will tell us nothing, for females should never know anything about such things! They would dislike it so very much, if one attempted to interfere in a matter of honour!”

“I am not in the least concerned with what they may dislike,” replied Miss Morville somewhat tartly. “What I am thinking of is how excessively disagreeable it would be for you and the Frants to have such a scandal in your midst. Do let me beg of you, my dear Marianne, not to mention what has occurred to another soul! There will be no duel, if I have to lay an information against them both to prevent it.”

Marianne looked as though she hardly knew whether to be relieved or scandalized. “Oh, that would be dreadful!”

“You need not be alarmed: I am persuaded there will be no need to proceed to such an extreme.”

Her air of assurance had its effect. Marianne dried her tears, and was soothed. By the time she had tidied her ruffled ringlets, and folded up her shawl, she was calm enough to descend the stairs to the saloon, where Ulverston and Theo were chatting to Sir Thomas and his lady.

There was nothing to be learned from the Viscount’s manner, but Miss Morville thought that Theo was looking grave. Of Martin there was no sign, and since the Bolderwoods did not mention him she supposed that he must have left Whissenhurst without seeing them.

This was soon found to have been the case. The Stanyon party left the Grange together, and while Ulverston was exchanging a word or two with Sir Thomas on the front steps Theo found the opportunity to draw Miss Morville aside, and to ask her if she knew what was amiss between Martin and the Viscount.

“Yes, and so, I fancy, must everyone! Has Ulverston spoken to you?”

“Not Ulverston, but I ran into Martin, and I never saw the boy look so wild! Some nonsense he blurted out to me, demanding if I would act for Ulverston in an affair of honour! He cannot, surely, have been serious!”

“I fear it. What did you reply?”

“He gave me little chance to do more than to say I should certainly do no such thing. If he had not looked as he did, I should have thought him to have been speaking in jest. But Ulverston — ! Good God, this cannot be permitted! I’ll speak to Martin.”

There was no opportunity for more. The horses had been led up, and Sir Thomas was waiting to say good-bye. Miss Morville was handed into the saddle, and the party set off, the Viscount enlivening the way with a great deal of droll conversation, in a manner that would not have led anyone to suppose that he had been engaged in a violent quarrel not an hour earlier.

Upon their arrival at Stanyon, the gentlemen chose to ride on to the stables. Miss Morville dismounted at the foot of the terrace steps, and went quickly up them. She learned from Abney that his lordship was in the library, and went there immediately.

He was engaged in filling a two-colour gold snuff-box, ornamented with grisaille enamel paintings, with some of his special sort, but when he saw who had entered the room he rose at once, and set the jar aside. One glance at Miss Morville’s face made him say: “Is anything amiss, ma’am?”

She let the long skirt of her riding-dress fall, and began to strip off her gloves, saying with a slight smile: “You perceive so much more than one might imagine, my lord, that it is almost disconcerting.”

“Do I? But what has happened to cause you concern? Sit down!”

She obeyed, but said: “Well, I don’t know that I am greatly concerned, but there is something amiss, and I believe you are the proper person to be told of it.” She then, in the baldest of terms, recounted to him the story Marianne had poured out to her. “I should perhaps not have set much store by it had it not been for what Theo told me later. Marianne was greatly agitated, but that, I think, was largely because she has no brothers, and is consequently unaccustomed to scenes of violence.”

“Unlike Miss Morville?”

“Dear me, yes! In fact, I think it a pity that Marianne did not run away at once, for then, you know, they might have had what Jack calls a regular set-to, and I have little doubt they would have enjoyed it excessively, and parted the better friends. At least,” she added thoughtfully, “it is what I should expect of most men, but I own Martin is a little different.”

“That he tried to force a quarrel on to Lucy I can believe, but that Lucy should let him do it certainly surprises me.”

“I do not know, of course, what gentlemen consider to be insupportable provocation, but I imagine Martin might offer such provocation?”

“With enthusiasm,” he agreed. “The devil fly away with that boy!”

“He is very troublesome. But, although you may not like me to say this, I feel that he has not been quite properly treated. He did receive — and Marianne is fully conscious of it — a degree of encouragement which makes him not altogether to be blamed for his intemperate behaviour.”

“Oh, I know it! If she were not so innocent, one might call her an arrant flirt.”

“I am sure she had never the least intention of causing unhappiness.”

“No, the mischief lay in his being too young to rate her pretty smiles at their true worth, and in her being too young to recognize that Martin was no man for her playful arts. What a stupid business it is! Are you expecting me to settle it?”

“Certainly I am. If you do not, I shall be obliged to lay an information. Should it be to a magistrate?”

He laughed. “I hope we may not have to go to quite such a length as that! Will you leave it in my hands, and trust me to do what I can?”

“Yes, willingly,” she replied, rising, and picking up the train of her dress. “Theo said that he should speak to Martin, but I should not be surprised if you were found to have more influence than he has ever had. At all events, your word must carry weight with Lord Ulverston.”

She then left him, and he returned to his task of filling his snuff-box. It was very soon accomplished, and he had just restored the jar to a cupboard when Ulverston strolled in.

The Viscount instantly picked up the gold snuff-box from the table, and inspected it. “That’s pretty!” he remarked. “Where did you find it, Ger?”

“Rue St. Honoré — Louis XV. Not really suitable for day-wear, of course.”

“Oh, at old Ducroix’s? I bought one from him — genuine Barrière, with lapis panels.”

“I know you did. He showed it to me, but I thought the marble-enamel displeasing. How did you find them all at Whissenhurst?”

“Oh, in high gig! Lady Bolderwood is full of schemes for their party next week. The devil of it is that I find I can’t stay to attend it.”

“No, so I apprehend,” replied the Earl. “You have received a letter which summons you to town, haven’t you?”

Ulverston laid the snuff-box down, and raised a rueful pair of eyes to the Earl’s face. “So you know all about it, do you? Has Martin been with you?”

“No, Miss Morville. I should warn you that she is ready to inform against you to the nearest magistrate, Lucy.”

“Meddlesome female!”

“Not at all. She is a woman of remarkable good-sense. What nonsense is this, Lucy?”

“No nonsense of my seeking.”

“But you cannot mean to meet Martin, surely!”

Ulverston shrugged. “I told him I could not, but when he chose to slap my face what would you have expected me to do?”

“I can think of several things you might do. They would all of them do Martin a world of good, but they don’t include calling him out.”

“Boot’s on the other leg: he called me out. Of course I told him not to be making such a cake of himself, but when it came to his suggesting I didn’t care to face his markmanship, it was the outside of enough!”

“Oh, here’s a high flight!” said Gervase, laughing. “My poor Lucy, you have a great need to prove your mettle! I beg your pardon! But you can’t prove it against my foolish young brother, you know.”

“Don’t be alarmed! You don’t suppose I mean to hit him, do you?”

“No, I fear he means to hit you.”

“I’ll take my chance of that.”

“Make no mistake about this, Lucy!” Gervase said quietly. “If Martin means to kill you, there will be no chance. He is a very fine shot.”

“Is he?” The Viscount looked a little startled. “As good as you?”

“Much better.”

“The devil he is! The more reason, then, for not drawing back!”

“Lucy, if you really wish to be reassured, let me tell you that you will earn nothing but praise for withdrawing a challenge to a boy with not one tenth your experience!”

“You’re quite out. Not my challenge at all: I had nothing to do but accept a quarrel he was determined to force on to me.”

The Earl, who had been twirling his quizzing-glass on the end of its ribbon, now raised it to one eye, and through it surveyed his friend. “You said Martin slapped your face!”

“He did. I gave him a leveller; he asked me for satisfaction, which I refused to give him; he then slapped my cheek, and asked if I would now meet him. I call that his challenge, not mine!”

“How very irregular!” remarked the Earl, slightly amused.

“Irregular! The whole affair is quite abominable! God knows I don’t want to quarrel with your brother — not but what it’s time someone taught him not to persecute defenceless girls with his damned attentions!”

“Forgive me, Lucy, but what is your interest in Miss Bolderwood? I have myself called Martin to book for — unmannerly conduct towards her, but it ought, I think, to be remembered that they are old playfellows, and have not been used to stand upon ceremony with each other.”

“Oh, yes! Boy and girl stuff! I know that!” Ulverston said impatiently. He took a turn about the room. “Well! I imagine you have guessed! Nothing is to be announced until after her presentation, but you may wish me happy, Ger!”

“With all my heart! She will make you a delightful wife, and you will have the felicity of knowing yourself to be the object of a general envy!”

The Viscount grinned, as he grasped his hand. “Is she not beautiful, Ger? Those speaking eyes! So much countenance!”

“Indeed she is!” Gervase responded warmly.

“I can tell you, I think myself fortunate to have secured her affections before you had done so!”

“I cannot flatter myself that she ever thought more of me than of Martin.”

“Oh — Martin!” The Viscount said, his grin vanishing. “If I thought I had cut you out, I should be sorry for it!”

“No, you have cut Martin out.”

“I care nothing for that. It ain’t true, either.”

“I fancy he has been the most fav — prominent — of her suitors,” Gervase said, correcting himself hastily.

“Very likely. They are, as you have said, old playfellows, if he chose to think she cared for him, he must be a bigger coxcomb than I knew!”

Gervase let this pass. He picked up his snuff-box, and opened it, and took a meditative pinch. “Will you go halfway to meet Martin, Lucy?”

“To save you annoyance, yes!”

Gervase smiled at him. “Really, you know, Lucy, we cannot have such a scandal! These little affairs always leak out. By the by, was I to act for you?”

“Exactly what I asked the young fool! He told me Warboys would be happy to act for me! Man I’ve only met three times in my life!”

Gervase burst out laughing. “Warboys! I wish he may come to offer his services to you!”

But at that very moment, Mr. Warboys was most strenuously resisting all efforts put forward to make him do this very thing. “No, dash it, Martin!” he said. “Don’t mind acting for you — not but what I think you’re making a cake of yourself, mind! — but I’m damned if I’ll act for a fellow I don’t know!”

“You do know him! He was at our ball!”

“What’s that to say to anything? Seen him at Whissenhurst a couple of times too, but that don’t mean I know him!”