warns you against Lady Florence, and then secures her to himself--is
this treachery?"

"Treachery black as hell! I am an Italian," cried Cesarini, springing
to his feet, and with all the passions of his climate in his face, "and
I will be avenged! Bankrupt in fortune, ruined in hopes, blasted in
heart--I have still the godlike consolation of the desperate--I have
revenge."

"Will you call him out?" asked Lumley, musingly and calmly. "Are you a
dead shot? If so, it is worth thinking about; if not, it is a
mockery--your shot misses, his goes in the air, seconds interpose, and
you both walk away devilish glad to get off so well. Duels are humbug."

"Mr. Ferrers," said Cesarini, fiercely, "this is not a matter of jest."

"I do not make it a jest; and what is more, Cesarini," said Ferrers,
with a concentrated energy far more commanding than the Italian's fury,
"what is more, I so detest Maltravers, I am so stung by his cold
superiority, so wroth with his success, so loathe the thought of his
alliance, that I would cut off this hand to frustrate that marriage! I
do not jest, man; but I have method and sense in my hatred--it is our
English way."

Cesarini stared at the speaker gloomily, clenched his hand, and strode
rapidly to and fro the room.

"You would be avenged, so would I. Now what shall be the means?" said
Ferrers.