"Anything but a bottle, father," I said, watching him from the tail of my
eye, "anything but a bottle. It smacks of such low associations."

"Your pardon, Henry," he said quickly, "the movement was purely
unconscious. I had thought we were through with pistols for the evening,
and Mademoiselle must be fatigued. So put down the pistol, Henry, and let
us continue the interview."

"Certainly," I replied, "as soon as you have fulfilled your part of the
contract. As soon as you call off your servant, I shall wish you a very
good evening. Stand where you are, Brutus."

"Come, come," said my father patiently, "we have had enough of the
grotesque this evening. It is growing late, my son. Put down the pistol."

"Brutus," I called, "if you move again, backwards or forwards, I'll
fire," and I backed towards the wall.

"Good," said my father. "Henry, you have an amount of courage and
foresight which I scarcely expected, even in a son of mine, yet not
enough foresight to see that it is useless. Put down the pistol. Put it
down before I take it from you!"

His hand had returned again to his torn lapel, and he was leaning
slightly forward.

"One instant, father!" I said quickly. "If you come a step nearer, I
shall fire on your servant. Pray believe I am serious, father."

"My son!" he cried in mock alarm. "You distress me! Never be serious.