jest, and let him pass unmolested down the lane.

It was well that they did, for he had come to the end of his patience.
One man steps out of a carriage, picks up a handkerchief, and lives to
wear a Crown. Another takes the same step; it lands him in a low
squabble from which he may extricate himself with safety, but scarcely
with an accession of credit. Sir George belonged to the inner circle of
fashion, to which neither rank nor wealth, nor parts, nor power, of
necessity admitted. In the sphere in which he moved, men seldom
quarrelled and as seldom fought. Of easiest habit among themselves, they
left bad manners and the duello to political adventurers and cubbish
peers, or to the gentlemen of the quarter sessions and the local
ordinary. It was with a mighty disgust, therefore, that Sir George
considered alike the predicament into which a caprice had hurried him,
and the insufferable young Hector whom fate had made his antagonist.
They would laugh at White's. They would make a jest of it over the cakes
and fruit at Betty's. Selwyn would turn a quip. And yet the thing was
beyond a joke. He must be a target first and a butt afterwards--if any
afterwards there were.

As he entered the Mitre, sick with chagrin, and telling himself he might
have known that something of this kind would come of stooping to vulgar
company, he bethought him--for the first time in an hour--of the girl.
'Lord!' he said, thinking of her request, her passion, and her splendid
eyes; and he stood. For the _âge des philosophes_, destiny seemed to be
taking too large a part in the play. This must be the very man with whom
she had striven to embroil him!

His servant's voice broke in on his thoughts. 'At what hour will your
honour please to be called?' he asked, as he carried off the laced