"Why, as to that," said Sir Arthur, "it all depends upon the speed of my
own horse. I should think myself e'en let off cheaply if he took the
horse and rode on out of London, and never turned up again. Yet, I
bethink me, he has a way of turning up. If so, then we are too late. Let
him go. For me, I'd liefer sit me here with Lady Catharine, who, I
perceive, is about now to save my death of hunger, since now I see the
tea tray coming. Thank thee prettily."

Lady Catharine poured for him with a hand none too steady. "Sir Arthur,"
said she, "you know why I have this concern over such a quarrel. You
know well enough what the duello has cost the house of Knollys. Of my
uncles, four were killed upon this so-called field of honor. My
grandfather met his death in that same way. Another relative, before my
time, is reputed to have slain a friend in this same manner. As you
know, but three years ago, my brother, the living representative of our
family, had the misfortune to slay his kinsman in a duel which sprang
out of some little jest. I say to you, Sir Arthur, that this quarrel
must be stopped, and we must do thus much for our friends forthwith. It
must not go on."

"For our friends! Our friends!" cried Sir Arthur. "Ah, ha! so you mean
that the old beau hath hit thee, too, with his ardent eye. Or--hang!
What--you mean not that this stranger, this Scotchman, is a friend of
yours?"

"I speak but confusedly," said the Lady Catharine. "'Tis my prejudice
against such fighting, as you know. Can we not make haste, and so
prevent this meeting?"

"Oh, I doubt if there be much need of haste," said Sir Arthur, balancing