“Draw, curse you!”
Roxhythe snapped his fingers scornfully.
“So much for that pretty plaything! I do not fight you now or at any time. Body o’ me, am I to fight every young cockerel who fancies himself injured by me? Put up your sword and be thankful that I do not choose to take offence.”
The sword clattered to the ground.
“Devil! Devil!” gasped Sir Henry, and sprang at him.
There was a short struggle, a strangled oath from Crewe. Roxhythe had both the boy’s wrists in a vice-like grip. He did not appear to exert himself in the least, but Crewe could not break free. The pressure tightened relentlessly.
“Fool!” said my lord evenly. “I could ruin you ten times over for this. What madness has come over you that you dare to challenge me in such a fashion?”
Sir Henry was silent, clenching his underlip hard between his teeth. The grip on his wrists was agony. Roxhythe looked down at him contemptuously.
“If you like I will swear that at my hands Lady Crewe has received no ill, save, perhaps, a little heartache. Is that enough?”
“No, no! Damn you, let me go! I’ll allow no man—to make love to—my wife—and go—unpunished!”
“I applaud you. But yours would be the punishment an I met you.”
“I’ll take my chance of that! Let go my wrists! Do you think I care whether I live or die? Oh, name your seconds! Name them!”
“No.”
“For God’s sake forget that you are Roxhythe for one moment!”
“It is as well that one of us should remember it.”
“ ’Sdeath! Are you a creature of flesh and blood? I’ve struck you! I have offered you every insult! Is it possible that you can still refuse me satisfaction?”
“In truth, I am very forbearing,” sighed Roxhythe.
Crewe struggled to be free of him.
“Then again I call you coward! I’ll never rest until I have met you!”
Roxhythe released him.
“If you pester me it will be my painful duty to have you removed. I repeat: neither now or at any other time will I fight you. That is my last word.”
Crewe fell back. The marks of Roxhythe’s fingers were on his arms; dry sobs shook him. He collapsed into a chair, resting his head in his hands.
Roxhythe shook out his ruffles.
The door was opened; Sir Henry heard the snap as it was closed again. He was alone.
Ten minutes later Roxhythe was at Mrs. Carthew’s side, drawling witticisms.
Lady Frances came up with Mr. Fletcher at her elbow. She smiled sweetly.
“Mrs. Carthew, may I present Mr. Fletcher?”
The lady bowed.
“Will you dance, Madam?” simpered Fletcher.
Madam was uncertain. Plainly she liked Roxhythe’s company. But her hostess was already engaging his attention.
“Thank you, sir.” She was led away.
Lady Frances sat down beside my lord.
“Roxhythe, why have you tampered with that poor child?” Her voice was very calm.
“My dear Fanny, need we pursue the subject? I do not care to dwell on my mistakes.”
“You admit that it was a mistake? David, I implore you, let it end here!”
“It ended an hour since. I found myself growing paternal.”
“I am thankful for’t. The girl fancies herself in love with you. I pray heaven ’tis but a fancy. I have told her what manner of man you are.”
“Really? What manner of man am I?”
She disregarded him.
“David, it was not right; it was not fair. I’d say naught if she were a Court miss, versed in these ways. She is not. She knew no harm until you came into her life. And now—God and you know what harm has been wrought.”
“None.”
“That is true, Roxhythe?”
“As I live. I believe I must always have felt paternal towards her. It was a very mild intrigue.”
Lady Frances heaved a sigh of relief.
“I feared—she was so very overwrought—If you say it is not so, I believe you. But, oh, David, why? Why try to break her poor, foolish little heart? Were there not enough women besides her? Women who knew you and your ways?”
“It was her sweet simplicity that attracted me,” said Roxhythe.
“So you broke her for your pleasure. Sometimes I think that you are utterly without heart, David.”
“Mayhap. However, you’ll agree that I am not without forbearance when I tell you that for the past hour I have been closetted with the husband, refusing to fight him.”
“Ah! You will not fight him?”
“Certainly not. Why should I?”
“I know why you should not! ’Twere Lady Crewe’s ruin an you did.”
“So I thought. Unhappily he did not. He did all in his power to provoke me to wrath.”
“He failed?”
“Can you ask? I have told him that I will not meet him now or at any other time.”
“David, promise me that you will not go back on that!”
“I promise.”
She touched his hand, smiling a little tremulously.
“You’re not all bad, David. I believe that you are sorry for this—mistake.”
“I regret it with all my heart. The child took me more seriously than I knew.”
Lady Frances dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes.
“My dear,” said Roxhythe, “if you cry, I shall depart. I have had naught but tears and ravings all the evening.”
“Poor David! Oh me! I should be angry with you, I suppose. Somehow I cannot. You had best make love to me next time. Then neither of us will be hurt.”
Roxhythe kissed her hand.
“Two women there are, Fanny, whom I esteem above all others. One is now a memory.”
Frances looked up.
“Who was she?”
“She was Madame.”
“Madame! Roxhythe, you loved her?”
“I respected and admired her above all women. The other is your sweet self. If ever I love, or have loved a woman, you are she.”
“How dear of you!” sighed my lady. “To how many women have you said that?”
IV
Progression
At Drury Lane Christopher met Harcourt. They sat side by side in the Pit, and during the intervals, exchanged confidences. After the play they went together to partake of supper. When the dishes had been set before them Harcourt shook his head at Christopher.
“Oh, Chris, you are very wily!”
Christopher sampled a pasty.
“Am I? Why?”
“You led me to think
