“I will certainly try to prevent it,” soothed Christopher. “But are you sure that your husband is quite as mad—as you think?” He spoke apologetically.
“You do not know how wild he is! And—and because I go to Lady Frances’ house who is Roxhythe’s cousin, he thinks—he thinks—oh, it is all too horrible!”
“It must be,” said Christopher with feeling. “Will it comfort you if I promise that Roxhythe shall not go to this ball?”
“Oh, yes!” she sighed. “Thank you very much!”
He showed her out, anxious that she should leave as soon as might be. Hysterical women filled him with nervousness.
When he came back to the library his lips pursed.
“Thunder of God, what a household! And how indiscreet of her to come here!” He shook his head wisely.
When Roxhythe returned two days later, Christopher told him of my lady’s visit.
“Little fool,” commented my lord.
“Sir, she is naught but a child, and—I believe I am sorry for her.”
Roxhythe poured himself out a glass of burgundy.
“She behaves so foolishly. I have but to enter the room for her to go pale and then red. They are a melodramatic pair. I wish them joy of each other.” He drained the glass and lounged out.
Shortly after noon on the following day Roxhythe was in his private room attending to some affairs. To him came a lackey who announced that Sir Henry Crewe was downstairs and desired to see him at once.
One haughty eyebrow rose.
“I do not receive,” said my lord.
“I thought not,” said a deadly calm voice. “So I followed your servant.”
The scandalized footman threw a deprecatory glance at his master. Roxhythe nodded. Sir Henry came firmly into the room; the door closed behind the lackey.
Roxhythe looked his visitor up and down.
“May I know to what I owe this honour?” he drawled.
Crewe was very pale, with determination writ upon his face.
“A year ago, sir, you refused to fight me. Since then I have watched you closely. I have seen you at every ball, sometimes in attendance with my wife. I have remarked how many evenings she spends with your cousin. I am not a fool; neither am I blind.”
My lord’s mouth twitched.
“I am glad to know that,” he said.
“Perhaps it surprises you!” sneered Crewe.
“I confess I had not given you credit for much brain. Of course if you assure me that I was wrong I have no choice but to believe you.”
“You may mock as much as you please, my lord, but you will not evade the point any longer. It has come to my knowledge that my wife came to your house three nights since. I have borne much, but this goes beyond all bounds. One of us dies, my lord. Will you meet me?”
Roxhythe balanced his quill on one finger.
“I gave you the answer to that question a year ago, my friend.”
“You still refuse?”
“Certainly.”
“Perhaps—” Crewe laughed derisively. “—perhaps you’ll deny that my wife came to your house?”
“I am not in a position to deny it. You see, I was not in London.”
Crewe laughed again.
“A lie!”
Roxhythe bowed.
“I have called you coward; I now call you liar. Do you still refuse to meet me?”
“I do.”
An unpleasant smile hovered about Crewe’s mouth. He strode to the door, turned the key in the lock, and pocketed it. Roxhythe watched, mildly interested.
“Very well, my lord. You force my hand.” Sir Henry produced a case of pistols. He laid them on the table. “You will find them ready primed, sir, and alike in every respect. You may take your choice. We will stand at opposite ends of the room. It is now two minutes to the hour. When the clock strikes for the third time we fire.”
“It doesn’t strike,” said Roxhythe apologetically.
Crewe reddened.
“Then you may count.”
“You are very kind,” murmured my lord.
“Have you chosen your weapon, sir?”
Roxhythe pushed them away.
“My dear, impetuous fool, do you seriously think that I am going to fight you?”
“If you do not I’ll shoot you like the dog you are!”
“Not in this coat,” said Roxhythe. He stroked its velvet surface lovingly.
Crewe curbed his temper with difficulty.
“I think you will have no need of coats after today, sir.”
“Oh, I trust so,” answered Roxhythe placidly.
Crewe picked up one of the pistols.
“Do you fire from where you sit, sir?”
“No,” said Roxhythe.
Light sprang to the angry eyes.
“At last! From where, my lord?”
“From nowhere,” said Roxhythe.
The nervous hands clenched.
“I could strangle you in your chair, you mocking devil!”
“I doubt it,” smiled Roxhythe, unruffled. He rose, and came towards the furious young man. “In a very few moments I shall have lost my patience,” he said. “So I advise you to go.”
The pistol was raised.
“If you call for help I fire!” threatened Crewe.
“What I dislike about you is your deplorable manner,” complained Roxhythe. “Don’t wave that thing in my face!”
“Pick up that pistol! By God, if you goad me much further I will shoot you out of hand!”
“I thought you proposed doing that in any case. I suppose you have not the courage.”
Crewe’s finger was on the trigger. His eyes blazed.
“ ’Tis not I who lack courage, my lord! ’Tis you!”
Roxhythe smiled.
“Do you doubt me?” cried Sir Henry.
“You are labouring under a delusion,” replied Roxhythe. “I am not deaf.”
“Damn you, pick up that pistol!”
The smile became insufferable.
“Damn you, pick it up yourself,” said Roxhythe, very urbane.
Crewe looked in the handsome, laughing face, saw that my lord was playing with him, would continue to play with him, and went white. In that moment all semblance of sanity left him. He raised the pistol. His hand was trembling, but he controlled it; he had no thought for the consequences; he only knew that Roxhythe was laughing at him, jibing at him. He fired. …
The report was deafening; smoke flooded the room. As soon as he had pulled the trigger Crewe realized the enormity of his act, and came violently to his
