"You shall not do it, George! You shall not do it!" she cried.
Beholding her so white and scared, hearing the strident note of fear in her voice, Sir George felt a tightening at the throat. Was it for Gadsby that she feared? Was it possible, after all, that her relations with him were not purely foolishness? Hitherto he had attached no importance to the matter beyond resenting an indiscretion of conduct that afforded food to the foul maw of scandal. But was it possible that the thing was serious in itself? Was it possible that she cared for the fellow?
He rose, and set hands upon her shoulders. His keen, grey eyes intently scanned her face for the least sign of what was really in her heart.
"I shall refrain, ma'am, only if you give me the promise I am asking."
She flung away from him, her anger, rising again at this restraint which he sought to impose upon her. She could not brook it. She resented it bitterly. Stamping her foot, she uttered what was in thoughts.
"You make a child of me!" she said. "I will not be the slave of your caprice!"
"Nor I the butt of yours," he countered. "Will you promise?"
"No," she answered, hurling the word at him as if it had been a material thing.
He fell back as from a blow. His lips tightened. Then, without another word, he bowed and left the room.
An hour later, his face placid, his soul in the dread torment of doubt, he lounged into a room at White's, where a considerable company sat at play about a faro-table. All were known to him, and of the company was Gadsby, the man he sought, who since coming to town and success was a rabid gamester.
Sir George put up his quizzing-glass to take a cool and insolent scrutiny of the artist. Gadsby flushed under that discomposing stare.
"Egad!" said the baronet, and he laughed unpleasantly, "you're a confiding company to sit down to faro with that flash cove!" The jerk of gold-rimmed glass towards Gadsby left no doubt as to the person at whom his insult was aimed.
There was a scraping of chairs. Men swung round in speechless amazement to stare at the speaker. Gadsby turning first scarlet, then white to the lips, considered the baronet with furious eyes.
"I'll trouble you, Sir George, to make your meaning clearer," he said in a quivering voice.
"Is it to be more clear?" demanded Sir George, when he had recovered from his haughtily feigned surprise. "My meaning is that you're the most infamous rook that ever fingered a pack. Is that clear enough?"
"No, sir, it is not―not by half!" roared the other, upon his feet now. He was a handsome, swarthy fellow, with a certain raffishness of air which, whilst stamping him, was not altogether unprepossessing. "You lie, Sir George, and you know it!"
Sir George took snuff delicately. "You cheat, Mr. Gadfly, and you know it."
"Gadsby's the name."
"Possibly. But the other suits you better," said Sir George.
"You'll find a sting in me, by gad!" swore the furious artist.
"'Tis what I am looking for," said Sir George urbanely. "I shall expect your friends." He bowed, and passed on, leaving a wild hubbub behind him.
Coming presently upon Lord Spawle, who was among his intimates, Sir George set a hand upon his shoulder.
"Will you act for me in this, Ned?" said he.
"Skewer my vitals!" quoth the lordling, "The fellow's only weapon is a mahlstick.
"I'll fight with mahlsticks, if he can use no others," said Sir George indifferently.
Being a stranger to all weapons, Mr. Gadsby of course, chose pistols, since these at least offered him a slender advantage of chance. But it was the slenderest, as all the word knew, for Sir George was the deadliest shot in town or out of it: and the town opined that if Mr. Gadsby did not get himself measured for his coffin he was neglecting to provide for the inevitable.
"Poor devil!" sighed Spawle that night to Sir George. "Sink me into Hades, but you're no better than a butcher, Geordie! A Herod upon the slaughter of an innocent! Will you me, at least, that you'll no more than wing him."
"I am told," said Sir George, "that the ladies of the town are of the opinion that the fellow has a heart. It is my desire to ascertain the fact for my own satisfaction in the morning."
His lordship groaned and took his leave, promising to call for his principal at six o'clock upon the following morning.
And scarcely had Spawle left Sir George's dining-room, where they had been sitting than Lady Sutliffe, a satin wrap flung over her night attire, entered by the chamber's other door. Sir George turned at the rustle of her approach.
"Ah, madam!" said he, and bowed. "I thought you a―bed."
"I overheard Lord Spawle," said she, speaking quickly, her voice unsteady. "'Tis not, I trust, Lord Spawle's fault?" he answered. "Such things are not for gentle ears."
"What he said is true," she pursued. "You are a butcher, no better―a murderer. 'Tis what all the town will be saying of you tomorrow. You rant to me of my name, and of the scandal attaching to it. What manner of scandal, think you, will attach to yours? I tell you, sir, it will come to stink in the nostrils of all decent men!"
And, shaking from head to foot in her agitation, she sank into the nearest chair.
Again Sir George felt the tightening at his throat at his threat that he had experienced earlier that day when the prospect of his meeting Gadsby had seemed to alarm her. His horrible suspicions received confirmation from her present demeanour. He turned aside, that she might not observe the sudden pallor of his face. He clenched his hands behind him, and took a turn in the room to steady himself and regain his self-control, whilst she sat huddled in the chair, weeping softly, her spirit very bruised.
"Madam," he said at last, "what you urge is very just."
She looked up quickly, clutching the chair's edge.
"If I promise―If I promise as you wanted me?" she cried out.
A bitter little smile curled the fine lines of his mouth.
"It is a little late for that, madam," he said. "You had your opportunity, and you cast it from you. In a few hours now, one way or the other, the promise will no longer be necessary."
She made a sound in her throat. She put her hand to it gropingly, her eyes staring at him in ever-deepening horror.
"But what you urge is just, as I have said," he pursued; and, as he spoke, he resumed his pacing. "It is not a duel that lies before me, but an execution; and, after all, it can do my honor little credit that I shall play at Mr. Ketch."
"Indeed―indeed!" she assented eagerly, her voice a whisper.
"Madam," he pursued, in the same level tones, which afforded her never a glimpse of the misery within, "I shall amend the terms so that, the chances be more even. We shall draw lots for the first shot, and it shall be permissible to aim. Thus should fortune favour Mr. Gadsby―faith, your lover may be spared you!"
"My lover," she cried indignantly. "I have no lover!"
He raised his brows.
"I think, madam," said he, with the delicatest sarcasm, "the observation is a little premature."
She staggered to her feet, and stood pouring forth intercessions that he should forgo the duel.
"What, madam!" he cried. "Still not content? Why, I vow to gad I am most obliging. 'Tis not every husband would do the like. I pray you be satisfied with the concession that I make, for it is the utmost in my power. The affair is no in my hands."
She held out her arms to him. She was exorcised by now of both her devils. "George, George," she cried.
But he stood unresponsive, rendered pitiless by his doubts of her.
She swallowed hard.
"It was over cards you quarreled," said she, more calmly, informing him how much she had overheard. "You branded him a cheat, knowing that you lied. Could you not admit that it was false? Could you not"―she boggled at the word; then flung it out in despair―"apologise? None would doubt your courage!"