He was up early the next morning, and had some coffee brought to him by the servant of the house, and as he drank it he had an interview with his landlady. “He was going,” he said;—“going that very day.” It might be possible that he would change his mind; but as he would desire to start without delay, if he did go, he would pay her then what he owed her, and what would be due for her lodgings under a week’s notice. The woman stared, and curtseyed, and took her money. Vavasor, though he had lately been much pressed for money, had never been so foolish as to owe debts where he lived. “There will be some things left about, Mrs. Bunsby,” he said, “and I will get you to keep them till I call or send.” Mrs. Bunsby said that she would, and then looked her last at him. After that interview she never saw him again.
When he was left alone he put on a rough morning coat, and taking up the pistol, placed it carefully in his pocket, and sallied forth. It was manifest enough that he had some decided scheme in his head, for he turned quickly towards the West when he reached the Strand, went across Trafalgar Square to Pall Mall East, and then turned up Suffolk Street. Just as he reached the clubhouse at the corner he paused and looked back, facing first one way and then the other. “The chances are that I shall never see anything of it again,” he said to himself. Then he laughed in his own silent way, shook his head slightly, and turning again quickly on his heel, walked up the street till he reached the house of Mr. Jones, the pugilistic tailor. The reader, no doubt, has forgotten all he ever knew of Mr. Jones, the pugilistic tailor. It can soon be told again. At Mr. Jones’s house John Grey lodged when he was in London, and he was in London at this moment.
Vavasor rang the bell, and as soon as the servant came he went quickly into the house, and passed her in the passage. “Mr. Grey is at home,” he said. “I will go up to him.” The girl said that Mr. Grey was at home, but suggested that she had better announce the gentleman. But Vavasor was already halfway up the stairs, and before the girl had reached the first landing place, he had entered Mr. Grey’s room and closed the door behind him.
Grey was sitting near the open window, in a dressing-gown, and was reading. The breakfast things were on the table, but he had not as yet breakfasted. As soon as he saw George Vavasor, he rose from his chair quickly, and put down his book. “Mr. Vavasor,” he said, “I hardly expected to see you in my lodgings again!”
“I dare say not,” said Vavasor; “but, nevertheless, here I am.” He kept his right hand in the pocket which held the pistol, and held his left hand under his waistcoat.
“May I ask why you have come?” said Grey.
“I intend to tell you, at any rate, whether you ask me or not. I have come to declare in your own hearing—as I am in the habit of doing occasionally behind your back—that you are a blackguard—to spit in your face, and defy you.” As he said this he suited his action to his words, but without any serious result. “I have come here to see if you are man enough to resent any insult that I can offer you; but I doubt whether you are.”
“Nothing that you can say to me, Mr. Vavasor, will have any effect upon me;—except that you can, of course, annoy me.”
“And I mean to annoy you, too, before I have done with you. Will you fight me?”
“Fight a duel with you—with pistols? Certainly not.”
“Then you are a coward, as I supposed.”
“I should be a fool if I were to do such a thing as that.”
“Look here, Mr. Grey. You managed to worm yourself into an intimacy with my cousin, Miss Vavasor, and to become engaged to her. When she found out what you were, how paltry, and mean, and vile, she changed her mind, and bade you leave her.”
“Are you here at her request?”
“I am here as her representative.”
“Self-appointed, I think.”
“Then, sir, you think wrong. I am at this moment her affianced husband; and I find that, in spite of all that she has said to you—which was enough, I should have thought, to keep any man of spirit out of her presence—you still persecute her by going to her house, and forcing yourself upon her presence. Now, I give you two alternatives. You shall either give me your written promise never to go near her again, or you shall fight me.”
“I shall do neither one nor the other—as you know very well yourself.”
“Stop till I have done, sir. If you have courage enough to fight me, I will meet you in any country. I will fight you here in London, or, if you are afraid of that, I will go over to France, or to America, if that will suit you better.”
“Nothing of the kind will suit me at all. I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”
“Then you are a coward.”
“Perhaps I am;—but your saying so will not make me one.”
“You are a coward, and a liar, and a blackguard. I have given you the option of behaving like a gentleman, and you have refused it. Now, look here. I have come here with arms, and I do not intend to leave this room without using them, unless you will promise to
