"Captain Macklin," she repeated. "This afternoon I tried to stop the
duel you are to fight with my brother, and I am told that I made a
very serious blunder. I should like to try and correct it. When I
spoke of my brother's skill, I mean his skill with the pistol, I knew
you were ignorant of it and I thought if you did know of it you would
see the utter folly, the wickedness of this duel. But instead I am
told that I only made it difficult for you not to meet him. I cannot
in the least see that that follows. I wish to make it clear to you
that it does not."

She paused, and I, as though I had been speaking, drew a long breath.
Had she been reading from a book her tone could not have been more
impersonal. I might have been one of a class of school-boys to whom
she was expounding a problem. At the Point I have heard officers'
wives use the same tone to the enlisted men. Its effect on them was to
drive them into a surly silence.

But Miss Fiske did not seem conscious of her tone.

"After I had spoken," she went on evenly, "they told me of your
reputation in this country, that you are known to be quite fearless.
They told me of your ordering your own men to shoot you, and of how
you took a cannon with your hands. Well, I cannot see--since your
reputation for bravery is so well established--that you need to prove
it further, certainly not by engaging in a silly duel. You cannot add
to it by fighting my brother, and if you should injure him, you would
bring cruel distress to--to others."

"I assure you---" I began.