"Then do not fight," said she.
He wanted to look at the clock; he wanted to spring up and rush to the door; he was conscious that Spicer was knocking gently, and that it was time to go where the conventions of honour called him. The soft clasp held him, and the mysterious eyes. He was a very boy, and had never loved before, and—she was masked!
"Let me advise you," said she. "Believe me, your welfare is dearer to me than you can imagine—dearer to me than I ought to tell you. Believe me, if you give up this duel you will live to be glad of it. Sir Jasper will thank you no later than this very day, as never man thanked man before. And you will make me so happy! Oh, believe me, your honour is safe with me."
"Only let me see your face," said he, while Spicer knocked louder. "I will see her, and kiss her," he thought to himself, "and that will be something to carry to my death."
"How dare you ask it?" she said. "Must I grant your request when you refuse me mine?"
"And if I grant you yours," said he, as his heart beat very fast, "what will you give me?"
"Oh, give," said she, "give! Who cares for gifts? A man must take." Her red lip beneath the mask here became arched so bewitchingly over a row of the whitest teeth in all the world, that Harry Verney, whose head had been rapidly going, lost it and his heart together.
"That is a challenge," said he, as he drew a hand away and lifted it to the mask.
"Ah, traitor!" she cried, and made a dainty start of resistance. His fingers trembled on the soft scented locks.
"You shall not," said she, and bent her head to avoid his touch, so that as he knelt their faces were closer together than ever.