"Seriousness is never becoming, sir," said Blakeney, politely smothering a
slight yawn, "and it is vastly unbecoming in the presence of ladies."

"Am I to understand then, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin, "that you are
prepared to apologize to Mademoiselle Candeille for this insults offered
to her by Lady Blakeney?"

Sir Percy again tried to smother that tiresome little yawn, which seemed
most distressing, when he desired to be most polite. Then he flicked off a
grain of dust from his immaculate lace ruffle and buried his long, slender
hands in the capacious pockets of his white satin breeches; finally he said
with the most good-natured of smiles:

"Sir, have you seen the latest fashion in cravats? I would wish to draw
your attention to the novel way in which we in England tie a Mechlin-
edged bow."

"Sir Percy," retorted Chauvelin firmly, "since you will not offer
Mademoiselle Candeille the apology which she has the right to expect
from you, are you prepared that you and I should cross swords like
honourable gentlemen?"

Blakeney laughed his usual pleasant, somewhat shy laugh, shook his
powerful frame and looked from his altitude of six feet three inches down
on the small, sable-clad figure of ex-Ambassador Chauvelin.

"The question is, sir," he said slowly, "should we then be two honourable
gentlemen crossing swords?"