Sir George dropped his hand from his face as if it stung him. 'Mr.
Dunborough,' he said trembling--but it was with passion, 'if I thought
you were sober and would not repent to-morrow what you have done
to-night--'

'You would do fine things,' Dunborough retorted. 'Come, sir, a truce to
your impertinence! You have meddled with me, and you must maintain it.
Must I strike you again?'

'I will not meet you to-night,' Sir George answered firmly. 'I will be
neither Lord Byron nor his victim. These gentlemen will bear me out so
far. For the rest, if you are of the same mind to-morrow, it will be for
me and not for you to ask a meeting.'

'At your service, sir,' Mr. Dunborough said, with a sarcastic bow. 'But
suppose, to save trouble in the morning, we fix time and place now.'

'Eight--in Magdalen Fields,' Soane answered curtly. 'If I do not hear
from you, I am staying at the Mitre Inn. Mr. Thomasson, I bid you
good-night. My lord, your servant.'

And with that, and though Mr. Thomasson, wringing his hands over what
had occurred and the injury to himself that might come of it, attempted
some feeble remonstrances, Sir George bowed sternly, took his hat and
went down. He found his chair at the foot of the stairs, but in
consideration of the crowd he would not use it. The college porters,
indeed, pressed him to wait, and demurred to opening even the wicket.
But he had carried forbearance to the verge, and dreaded the least
appearance of timidity; and, insisting, got his way. The rabble admired
so fine a gentleman, and so resolute a bearing, gave place to him with a