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‘George ought to beg Sherry’s pardon. Trouble is, he won’t,’ said Ferdy.‘Come to think of it, he’s been spoiling for a fight for a long time. Never can find anyone to go out with him in the general way. If it weren’t Sherry, I’d say it was a shame to ruin the only bit of pleasure the poor fellow has had in months.’

  ‘But it is Sherry!’ Hero cried.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Ferdy mournfully. ‘Pity!’

  ‘Never mind that!’ interposed Mr Ringwood. ‘It’s got to be stopped. Don’t pay any heed to Ferdy, Kitten! You listen to me! And, mind! not a word of this to Sherry, for he’d be as mad as Bedlam if he knew I’d breathed a syllable to you, and very likely call me out, and Ferdy too!’

  ‘No, no, I promise I will not say a word to Sherry!’

  ‘I can’t move George; Ferdy can’t move George. Tried our best already. Only one person he’ll listen to.’

  ‘Isabella!’ exclaimed Hero.

  ‘That’s it. The thing is for you to see her. Friend of yours. Won’t refuse to help you. Persuade her to send for George. Tell her not to spread it about the town, though! Get her to coax George out of the sullens, and send him along to see Sherry. I know Sherry: let George but hold out his hand, and the whole thing will blow over in a trice!’

  ‘I will go to Isabella at once!’ Hero said, the peril in which Sherry stood ousting every other consideration from her mind.

  She set forth immediately, arriving at the Milborne residence just as Isabella mounted the steps, with her abigail. Isabella greeted her affectionately, and would have shown her some interesting purchases she had been making, had it not been plain to a much meaner intelligence than hers that Hero had come to visit her on more urgent affairs than frills and furbelows. She at once took her friend up to her dressing-room, and begged to be allowed to know in what way she could serve her.

  Until that moment it had not occurred to Hero that there could be the least difficulty in disclosing the whole of her story to Miss Milborne, but under the steady gaze of those lovely eyes she found herself faltering in her recital, blushing a little, stumbling over what before had seemed so simple and so natural.

  Miss Milborne heard her out, in slowly gathering wrath. It was just as she had suspected: Hero had indeed stolen another of her suitors, and Wrotham was as volatile as her Mama had so often assured her he was! If she needed any confirmation of the gravity of the episode, she had it in Sherry’s challenge to George. Miss Milborne was well aware that no sane man would call George out, except under the most extreme provocation, and since Sherry had shown no signs of inebriety at the ball she failed to allow for the exhilarating properties of champagne punch as mixed by the Honourable Ferdy Fakenham. Her bosom swelled, and she was conscious of a humiliating desire to burst into tears. As for Hero’s explanation that George had kissed her because she had rejected his violets, she had never heard anything so lame in her life. She said in a trembling voice: ‘I am sure I do not wonder that Sherry should have called him out! But you, Hero – how could you do so? I had not thought you so fast, so lacking in principle!’

  ‘I am not fast or lacking in principle!’ said Hero indignantly. ‘I was so sorry for poor George that if he wanted to kiss me – just for comfort, you know! – it would have been quite horrid of me to have repulsed him!’

  ‘My dear Lady Sheringham, I wish you will not put yourself to the trouble of telling me nonsensical stories!’ said Miss Milborne, in what she meant to be a stately manner but which, even to her own ears, sounded merely pettish.

  ‘Isabella Milborne, I think you are the cruellest creature alive!’ said Hero, her eyes flashing. ‘I would not credit it when George said you had no heart, but I think you have none indeed! How can you have looked at poor George last night and not pitied him?’

  Miss Milborne averted her face, replying stiffly: ‘What pity I may have felt for Lord Wrotham – and you are not to be a judge of that, if you please! – was plainly thrown away, since he contrived very speedily to console himself.’

  ‘Fudge!’ retorted Hero. ‘He wanted to kiss you, but since he could not, and I was there, he kissed me instead; but as for consoling himself – why, how can you be so stupid? Do you not know how it is with gentlemen? They kiss so easily, and it does not mean anything at all!’

  ‘No, I am happy to say I do not,’ replied Miss Milborne.

  ‘Good gracious! I quite thought you knew much more than I did, for you have been out for so much longer!’ exclaimed Hero ingenuously.

  Miss Milborne flushed, and answered in a voice with an edge to it:‘Do you mean to suggest, ma’am, that you consider me to be in danger of becoming an old maid?’

  ‘No, I do not – though perhaps you will be one, if you do not learn to be a little kinder, Isabella!’

  ‘Indeed! Perhaps you would advocate my bestowing my kisses with that generosity you yourself show?’ said Miss Milborne, her colour now much heightened.

  Perceiving that she had thoroughly enraged the Beauty, Hero made haste to say contritely: ‘No, indeed! I beg your pardon: I had no business to say that. It is only that I have a particular kindness for George, and I cannot bear to see him made unhappy.’

  ‘I do not presume to advise you, ma’am, but I must hope that your particular kindness for Lord Wrotham may not lead you into a worse scrape than this unsavoury affair. Forgive me if I speak too boldly! You have done me the signal honour of confiding in me – with what object I am at a loss to understand –’

  ‘Oh, Isabella, pray do not talk in that missish way!’ Hero besought her. ‘Can you not guess why I have come to beg you to help me?’

  ‘I have not the remotest conjecture.’

  ‘Oh, dear, and I was used to think you so clever! The thing is, you must know what George is, Bella; They say he never misses, and, oh, he must not kill Sherry, he shall not kill him!’

  Miss Milborne shrugged her shoulders. ‘I imagine there can be little fear of either killing the other!’

  ‘So I thought, but Gil and Ferdy have been with George all the morning, and they say there is no moving him! He likes fighting duels – isn’t it odd? They say that when he is in one of these tiresome moods there is no doing anything with him! Isabella, I must stop this dreadful meeting!’

  ‘I am sure I do not know how you will contrive to do so.’

  ‘That is why I have come to you, Isabella, though he will not listen to Gil or Ferdy, George will listen to you! Oh, will you be so very obliging as to send for him, and make him promise he won’t fight Sherry? Please, Isabella, will you do that for me?’

  Miss Milborne rose to her feet somewhat suddenly.‘I send for George?’ she repeated, in stupefied tones.‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

  ‘No, of course I have not! You must know that there can be nothing he would not do for your sake! You have only to beg him –’

  ‘I would sooner die an old maid!’

  Startled by the suppressed passion in the Beauty’s voice, Hero could only blink at her in surprise. Miss Milborne pressed her hands to her hot cheeks.‘Upon my word, I had not thought it possible! So I am to send for George, and to supplicate him not to engage in a duel! After he has been making shameless love to you! Nothing – nothing could prevail upon me to do it! I am astonished you should ask it of me! Pray tell me why you, who are on such intimate terms with him, do not supplicate George yourself ! I am persuaded your words must carry quite as much weight with him as mine. More, I dare say!’

  Hero sprang up, her hands tightly locked together within her ermine muff, quite as angry a flush as Isabella’s in her cheeks. ‘You are right! I will go to George! He does not make shameless love to me; no, for he has no love for me! but he is fond of me, a little, and he did say he would not wish to make me unhappy! I do not know how I can have been so foolish as to think that you would help me, for there is nothing behind your beauty but vanity and spite, Isabella!’

  With these words she fairly ran from the room, and down the stairs, letting herself out of the front door, and
shutting it behind her with a slam. She entered her barouche, and told the surprised footman to direct the coachman to drive to Lord Wrotham’s lodging.

  His lordship was at home, and had barely time to straighten his neckcloth, and run a hand over his tumbled locks before his visitor came tempestuously into the room.

  ‘George!’ Hero said, casting her muff on to a chair, and advancing upon him with both hands stretched out.

  ‘My dear Lady Sheringham!’ George said, bowing formally, one eye on the wooden countenance of his servant.

  This individual reluctantly withdrew from the room, just as Hero cried sharply:‘Oh, don’t, George! I am in such distress!’

  He caught her hands, and held them warmly. ‘No, no, but Kitten, you must think what my man would imagine! You should not have come here!’

  ‘No, I know I should not, but what else could I do? for I know very well you would not come to Half Moon Street.’

  ‘Hardly!’

  ‘Then you see that I was obliged to come!’

  He glanced quickly out of the window, perceived the crest on the panel of her barouche, and exclaimed: ‘In your own carriage! Kitten, you are incorrigible! Good God, if Sherry gets wind of this there’ll be the devil to pay, and no pitch hot!’

  ‘How can it signify? Nothing could be worse than it is at this moment! George, you must not meet Sherry!’

  ‘I shall certainly do so, however.’

  She clasped the lapels of his coat, giving him a little shake. ‘No, I say you shall not! George, you know it was very wrong of us, although we meant no harm. Please, George, beg Sherry’s pardon, and let us all be comfortable again!’

  He shook his head obstinately. ‘I have never drawn back yet from an engagement, and by God, I will not do so now!’

  ‘Yes, but, George, this time –’

  ‘Besides, I’m dashed if I’ll apologise for kissing you! I liked it excessively!’ said George brazenly.‘If Sherry had a grain of sense, he’d know it didn’t mean a thing, too!’

  ‘George, you said you would not wish to make me unhappy!’ Hero said desperately.

  ‘No, by Jove, not for the world!’

  ‘But don’t you see, you stupid creature, that if you kill Sherry I shall be so unhappy I shall die?’ Hero said.

  ‘Oh, I’m not going to kill Sherry!’ said his lordship carelessly. ‘What put that into your head?’

  She released his coat, and stood staring at him.‘But they told me – Gil and Ferdy –’

  ‘You don’t mean that that brace of gudgeons blabbed the whole thing to you?’ George ejaculated.

  ‘But what else could they do, when they thought you meant to kill Sherry?’

  ‘Pooh! nonsense! Who said anything about killing anyone? Good God, Sherry’s a friend of mine!’

  ‘Yes, but – but if you do not mean to beg his pardon, I am much afraid he will insist on fighting you,’ said Hero.

  ‘Oh, lord, yes! He’s a regular good ’un, Sherry!’ said George, with the utmost cordiality.

  Hero regarded him blankly. ‘George, if you mean to wound Sherry, I would much, much rather you did not!’

  ‘No, no, I won’t hurt a hair of his head!’ he assured her. ‘I shall delope.’

  ‘What is that, please?’

  ‘Oh! – fire into the air!’

  ‘Well, George, indeed I am very much obliged to you, but would it not be better not to meet Sherry at all?’

  ‘Hang it, no! We must meet! He challenged me!’

  ‘Yes, I know, but – George, if you mean to fire into the air, it seems to me that Sherry may very likely kill you!’

  ‘Sherry? At twenty-five yards?’ said George. ‘Wouldn’t hit a haystack at that range! That’s why I chose it. Not but what I don’t care if he does put a bullet through me,’ he added, his brow clouding suddenly.

  ‘Well, I care!’ said Hero tartly. ‘He would have to fly the country, and what would become of me then?’

  George’s gloom vanished in a grin. ‘Oh, Kitten, you horrid little wretch! Don’t tease yourself ! He won’t hit me.’

  ‘You don’t feel that I had better warn him you mean to fire in the air?’ she asked anxiously.

  He took her by the shoulders, and gave her a shake.‘You dare tell Sherry one word about this!’ he said.‘If he knew what you’d done he’d be fit to murder the pair of us! Besides, you’ve no business to be mixed up in it! You must go home. And not a word to a soul, mind!’

  ‘But I must tell Gil –’

  ‘No, you must not! I’ll settle Gil! Deserves to be called out himself for frightening you like this!’

  ‘Oh, no, pray don’t do that, George!’ she said hastily.

  ‘Wouldn’t be any use if I did: there’s no getting Gil out at all. But you know, Kitten, I do think you should have known I wouldn’t hurt Sherry!’

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ she confided, ‘I did not think so, until Gil and Ferdy came to see me. But how odious it was of you to lead them to think you meant to kill him! You are quite abominable, George, you know you are!’

  He admitted it, but pleaded that Gil and Ferdy had been in such a pucker that he could not help himself. Hero laughed at this; he escorted her out to her barouche, and they parted on the best of terms. Hero drove back to Half Moon Street, and George sent a note to Mr Ringwood’s lodging, desiring him to stop making a cake of himself. Mr Ringwood showed this cryptic missive to Mr Fakenham, and both gentlemen came to the conclusion that whatever had been the outcome of Miss Milborne’s intervention George had no intention of killing Sherry on the morrow.

  Sherry, meanwhile, had been spending a singularly depressing morning with his lawyer. He had been making his Will, a task that engendered in him such a mood of melancholy that he despatched a note to Sir Montagu Revesby, excusing himself from making one of a card-party that evening, and would have spent the evening by his own fireside had it not occurred to him that such tame behaviour might be thought to augur a disinclination (to put it no higher) to meet Lord Wrotham upon the morrow. So instead of indulging his gloomy reflections in his wife’s drawing-room he took her to the theatre, and, since the piece was a lively one, contrived to be tolerably amused. Hero enjoyed herself hugely, a circumstance which led his lordship to suppose that she could not be aware of his assignation at Westbourn Green. He naturally would not have dreamed of mentioning such a matter to her, but he could not help thinking that it might come as a severe shock to her if his lifeless corpse were to be borne into the house just as she was sitting down to breakfast, so he tried to drop her a hint.

  ‘You know, Kitten,’ he said, outside her chamber door, ‘if anything were to happen to me at any time – mind you, I don’t say anything will, but you never know! – well, what I mean is, I’ve made all the proper provisions, and – and no strings tied to ’em, so that you’ll be able to marry again, if you choose.’

  ‘I never, never should!’ Hero said, holding his hand very tightly.

  ‘No reason why you shouldn’t. Only don’t have George, brat! He wouldn’t suit you at all!’

  ‘Sherry, don’t!’ she begged. ‘Nothing will happen to you!’

  ‘No, I dare say not, but I thought I might just mention the matter,’ he said carelessly. ‘And if it did, I wouldn’t wish you to fret about it, you know.’

  ‘No, no, I won’t!’ she promised. ‘Only don’t talk in that way, Sherry, for even though I know nothing will happen to you I do not like it!’

  ‘Silly little puss!’ he said, pinching her nose. ‘Did you enjoy the play?’

  ‘Oh, I did!’

  ‘Well, I’m glad of that, at all events,’ he said, and on this altruistic thought took himself upstairs to bed.

  His cousin Ferdy called at the house for him at a chill, slightly misty hour on the following morning. The Viscount was quite ready for him, and except that he looked a trifle more serious than was customary, he seemed to be in good spirits. He jumped up into the tilbury beside Ferdy, his many-caped greatcoat buttoned up
to his throat, and asked briskly: ‘Got the pistols?’

  ‘Gil has,’ replied Ferdy. He added:‘Thought we had best engage a surgeon too, just in case. . . . Still, I dare say he won’t be needed.’

  ‘You never know,’ said the Viscount. ‘Mist’s lifting nicely. Couldn’t have had a better morning for it!’

  They arrived at the appointed meeting-place to find George and Mr Ringwood already upon the ground. The two principals exchanged formal bows. The seconds, inspecting the deadly weapons, held a short, whispered colloquy.

  ‘George said anything to you?’ asked Ferdy.

  ‘No. Putting on airs to be interesting,’ replied Mr Ringwood, with brutal candour.

  ‘Dash it, he can’t mean to blow a hole through Sherry!’

  ‘Just what I think myself. Queer I didn’t hear from Lady Sherry, though.’

  While this dialogue was in progress, Sherry had cast off his drab driving-coat, and buttoned the plain, dark coat he wore under it up to his chin, so that it completely hid his white shirt. He had been careful to choose a coat with small, dark buttons, so that he should afford his adversary no unnecessary mark; and he noticed, with some annoyance, that Lord Wrotham, as though in open contempt of his marksmanship,was wearing the blue and yellow-striped waistcoat of the Four Horse Club, and a coat with gleaming silver buttons.

  The paces were measured; the principals took up their positions, the duelling pistols, with their ten-inch barrels and hair-triggers set at half-cock, pointing earthwards; the seconds retreated eight paces; the doctor turned his back upon the proceedings; and Mr Ringwood took out a handkerchief, and held it up. As it fell, George jerked up his right hand, and deloped. A second later the Viscount’s bullet buried itself in a tree-trunk quite three feet to the left of his opponent. The next instant he had lowered his pistol, and said furiously:‘Damn you, George, will you stop being noble?’

  ‘Good God, Sherry!’ George said, disgustedly surveying the wounded tree, ‘you can do better than that, dash it, man!’

  ‘Better than that? I meant to hit it!’ retorted Sherry, much incensed.

  ‘Who’s being noble now?’ demanded George, strolling across the ground to give his pistol up to Mr Ringwood. ‘You must have been practising. Here you are, Gil!’