“No harm, you say? All the town will talk of this. How do I know that there is not more between you?”
The fine lips curled contemptuously.
“Faith, you have a good opinion of your wife!” said Roxhythe. Then he grew grave. “You foolish boy, what have you been about all this time? You say you have watched us? Then why a-God’s name did you not act? By heaven, I would let no man steal my wife’s heart!”
“If it can be stolen I do not want it! I’ll make no effort to win her from you, my lord! She—she has earned my contempt! my hatred!”
“The tragic hero, egad! One would think there was more to this affaire than a series of very mild flirtations.”
“I do think it!”
“Then you are a foolish child. Strive to be wiser. I suggest you take your wife away, and woo her afresh. She will very soon forget me.”
Crewe gripped a chair-back. His face was white with anger.
“How dare you mock me? One would think that I was to blame for all this!”
“Most undoubtedly you are. Instead of freezing the girl you should have shaken her soundly and taken her away. Mordieu, you drove her to my arms, with your coldness and your scowls!”
“I thought her above—this kind of intrigue! I—heaven, what did I not think her? I have found that she is no better than the commonest trull that walks the streets!”
“La-la! What a fury! I begin to pity your wife.”
Two hectic spots of colour burned on Sir Henry’s cheeks.
“We’ll have done, if you please, sir—”
Roxhythe sighed with relief.
“Now God be thanked, here’s sense at last!”
“Will you name your friends?”
Roxhythe looked him up and down.
“Oh. You want satisfaction? Bethink you, you’ll damage your wife’s reputation as I have not done all this time.”
“I will take care of that, I thank you. Will you name your friends?”
“No,” said Roxhythe. “I will not.”
It seemed that Crewe was dumbfounded. He stared in amazement.
“You will not? You will not? Am I to call you coward then?”
“My dear boy, you may call me what you will if it eases you at all. Roxhythe does not fight with every fly that buzzes in his ear.”
Crewe sent a chair spinning across the room.
“Yet you will fight me, sir!”
“If you continue in this vein it seems very likely. I counsel you to calm yourself. It is no light matter to fight Roxhythe.”
“I am not afraid! Right is on my side!”
“But in this world it is more often might that triumphs. My tragic hero, do you not realize that I could pink you within—one minute?”
“I care not! And I believe that I can kill you!”
“The worse for you then. You were as effectually damned. You would have to reckon with King Charles. I’d not envy you that task. No, I will not fight you.”
“Then you are a coward! a coward! a coward! All the world will call you one!”
“All the world will laugh at you for your pains, Crewe. The world knows what manner of man I am.”
“You insult me! Am I unworthy of your sword?”
“By no means. But I do not murder babes.”
Crewe looked up into the mocking eyes. His hand fumbled in the breast of his coat and came out. With one laced glove he struck my lord across the face.
“Is that enough?” he panted.
The straight brows contracted swiftly.
“Almost enough to earn you a thrashing at my hands, Crewe,” said Roxhythe, a hint of grimness in his smooth voice.
Sir Henry fell back. A sob tore at his throat.
“My God, are you made of stone? You’ll swallow that insult?”
My lord shrugged.
“I have already told you; I do not murder babes.”
“Damn you, am I to strike you again?”
Roxhythe smiled.
Crewe’s hand clenched on the glove, twisting it round and round.
“Can I say nothing to move you? What have I done that you should scorn to fight me? Do you not owe me at least that much?”
“My good child, no. I have not damaged Lady Crewe’s reputation; I am even preventing you from so doing.”
“I will cry this shame against you! All London shall know how you refused to fight! were afraid to fight!”
“You would be very ill-advised. You would ruin your wife, and make yourself a laughingstock. Do you think I cannot afford to refuse to fight without injuring mine honour?”
Crewe stood still, seething with rage and impotence.
“Why will you not fight me? What reason have you?”
“I thought that I told you that,” said Roxhythe.
“Bah! ’Tis not from any desire to spare my life, I know!”
“Why then, we will say that it is not my will.”
“Do you think to put me off with that excuse? You treat me as though I were of no account! as though you had not ruined my happiness, disgraced my wife!”
My lord rearranged his cravat.
“I’ve no taste for heroics off the stage, my friend.”
The young man’s breath was coming short and quick. His hands trembled; his eyes burned dark in his pale face.
“Don’t mock at me! You—you goad me to what I will not think of! I could kill you where you stand, you smiling devil!”
My lord was still busy with his cravat. He stood with his back to Crewe looking into the mirror.
“Eh bien! Kill me.”
Crewe swung round on his heel. Up and down the room he paced, with white lips and trembling hands. He came at last to a standstill, facing my lord.
“Once more I ask: will you name your friends?”
Roxhythe studied his reflection pensively.
“I will not.”
Crewe was almost hysterical with rage. He tore at his sword, wrenching it from the scabbard.
“You shall fight! If you will not have it in order, it shall be here and now! On guard, my lord!”
Roxhythe gave a finishing touch to his laces, and turned.
“What have we
