you been present you would know there was no doing anything with him.”
“My very dear Crosby, had I been present,” said Rule softly, “my well-meaning but misguided young relative would not have committed any of these assaults upon your person.”
“N-no, c-cousin?” stammered Mr Drelincourt.
“No,” said Rule, rising, and picking up his hat and stick. “He would have left the matter in my hands. And I, Crosby, should have used a cane, not a small-sword.”
Mr Drelincourt seemed to shrink into his pillows. “I—I am at a loss to understand you, Marcus!”
“Would you like me to make my meaning even clearer?” inquired his lordship.
“Really, I—really, Marcus, this tone—! My wound—I must beg of you to leave me! I am in no fit state to pursue this conversation, which I protest I do not understand. My doctor is expected, moreover!”
“Don’t be alarmed, cousin,” said the Earl. “I shan’t try to improve this time on Pelham’s handiwork. But you should remember to render up thanks in your prayers for that wound, you know.” With which sweetly-spoken valediction he went out of the room, and quietly closed the door behind him.
Mr Drelincourt might have been slightly consoled had he known that his late opponent had come off very little better at the Earl’s hands.
Rule, visiting him earlier, had not much difficulty in getting the full story from Pelham, though the Viscount had tried at first to adhere to precisely the tale Mr Drelincourt told later. However, with those steady grey eyes looking into his, and that lazy voice requesting him to speak the truth, he had faltered, and ended by telling Rule just what happened. Rule listened in patently unadmiring silence, and at the end said: “Ah—am I expected to thank you for this heroic deed, Pelham?”
The Viscount, who was in the middle of his breakfast, fortified himself with a long draught of ale, and replied airily: “Well, I won’t deny I acted rashly, but I was a trifle in my cups, you know.”
“The thought of what you might have felt yourself compelled to do had you been more than a trifle in your cups I find singularly unnerving,” remarked the Earl.
“Damn it, Marcus, do you tell me you’d have had me pass it by?” demanded Pelham.
“Oh, hardly that!” said Rule. “But had you refrained from taking it up in public I should have been greatly in your debt.”
The Viscount carved himself a slice of beef. “Never fear,” he said. “I’ve seen to it no one will talk. I told Pom to set it about I was drunk.”
“That was indeed thoughtful of you,” said Rule dryly. “Do you know, Pelham, I am almost annoyed with you?”
The Viscount laid down his knife and fork and said resignedly : “Burn it if I see why you should be!”
“I have a constitutional dislike of having my hand forced,” said Rule. “I thought we were agreed that I should be allowed to—er—manage my affairs alone, and in my own way.”
“Well, so you can,” said the Viscount. “I ain’t stopping you.”
“My dear Pelham, you have—I trust—already done your worst. Until this lamentable occurrence your sister’s partiality for Lethbridge was not such as to attract any—er—undue attention.”
“It attracted that little worm’s attention,” objected the Viscount.
“Do, Pelham, I beg of you, allow your brain the indulgence of a little thought,” sighed his lordship. “You forget that Crosby is my heir. The only sustained emotion I have ever seen him display is his violent dislike of my marriage. He has made the whole world privy to it. In fact, I understand he causes considerable amusement in Polite Circles. Without your ill-timed interference, my dear boy, I venture to think that his remark would have been considered mere spite.”
“Oh!” said the Viscount, rather dashed. “I see.”
“I had hoped that you might,” said Rule.
“Well, but Marcus, so it was spite! Damned spite!”
“Certainly,” agreed Rule. “But when the lady’s brother springs up in a noble fury—you must not think I do not sympathize with you, my dear Pelham: I do, from the bottom of my heart—and takes the thing in so much earnest that he forces a quarrel on willy-nilly; and further issues a veiled challenge to the world at large—you did, did you not, Pel? Ah, yes, I was sure of it!—in case any should dare to repeat the scandal—why, then, there is food enough for speculation! By this time I imagine that there is scarcely a pair of eyes in town not fixed on Horry and Lethbridge. For which, Pelham, I have undoubtedly you to thank.”
The Viscount shook his head despondently. “As bad as that, is it? I’m a fool, Marcus, that’s what it is. Always was, you know. To tell you the truth, I was devilish set on fighting the fellow. Ought to have let him eat his words. Believe he would have.”
“I am quite sure he would,” agreed Rule. “However, it is too late now. Don’t distress yourself, Pelham: at least you have the distinction of being the only man in England to have succeeded in provoking Crosby to fight. Where did you wound him?”
“Shoulder,” said the Viscount, his mouth full of beef. “Could have killed him half a dozen times.”
“Could you?” said Rule. “He must be a very bad swordsman.”
“He is,” replied the Viscount with a grin.
Having visited both the principals in the late affair, the Earl dropped into White’s to look at the journals. His entry into one of the rooms seemed to interrupt a low-voiced conversation which was engaging the attention of several people gathered together in one corner. The talk ceased like a snapped thread, to be resumed again almost immediately, very audibly this time. But the Earl of Rule, giving no sign, did not really suppose that horse-flesh was the subject of the first debate.
He lunched at the club, and shortly afterwards strolled home to Grosvenor Square. My lady, he was informed upon inquiry, was in her boudoir.
This apartment, which had been decorated for Horatia in tints of blue, lay at the back of the house, up one pair of stairs. The Earl went up to it, the faintest of creases between his brows. He was checked half-way by Mr Gisborne’s voice hailing him from the hall below.
“My lord,” said Mr Gisborne. “I have been hoping you might come in.”
The Earl paused, and looked down the stairway, one hand resting on the baluster rail. “But how charming of you, Arnold!”
Mr Gisborne, who knew his lordship, heaved a despairing sigh. “My lord, if you would spare only a few moments to glance over some accounts I have here!”
The Earl smiled disarmingly. “Dear Arnold, go to the devil!” he said, and went on up the stairs.
“But, sir, indeed I can’t act without your authority! A bill for a perch-phaeton, from a coach-maker’s! Is it to be paid?”
“My dear boy, of course pay it. Why ask me?”
“It is not one of your bills, sir,” said Mr Gisborne, a stern look about his mouth.
“I am aware,” said his lordship, slightly amused. “One of Lord Winwood’s, I believe. Settle it, my dear fellow.”
“Very well, sir. And Mr Drelincourt’s little affair?”
At that the Earl, who had been absorbed in smoothing a crease from his sleeve, looked up. “Are you inquiring after the state of my cousin’s health, or what?” he asked.
Mr Gisborne looked rather puzzled. “No, sir, I was speaking of his monetary affairs. Mr Drelincourt wrote about a week ago, stating his embarrassments, but you would not attend.”
“Do you find me a sore trial, Arnold? I am sure you must. It is time I made amends.”
“Does that mean you will look over the accounts, sir?” asked Mr Gisborne hopefully.
“No, my dear boy, it does not. But you may—ah—use your own discretion in the matter of Mr Drelincourt’s embarrassments.”
Mr Gisborne gave a short laugh. “If I were to use my own discretion, sir, Mr Drelincourt’s ceaseless demands on your generosity would find their way into the fire!” he said roundly.
“Precisely,” nodded the Earl, and went on up the stairs.
The boudoir smelt of roses. There were great bowls of them in the room, red and pink and white. In the middle of this bower, curled upon a couch with her cheek on her hand, Horatia was lying, fast asleep.
The Earl shut the door soundlessly, and trod across the thick Aubusson carpet to the couch, and stood for a moment, looking down at his wife.
