“What kind of men?”
“Captain Lefferts and Jim Wade and—”
“Nay, you need say no more. Will you sacrifice my happiness to the opinion of Captain Lefferts and Jim Wade? Are you their slave? Richard is not himself now; if you permit him to force a fight upon you, you will both sorrow for it all your lives.”
“I will go and see the Bishop, and do whatever he tells me. If I need a defender from ill words—”
“You may safely leave your good name in his care, John. And who would dare to dispute a word he said? Dear John, I knew I could trust you. Goodbye, my love!”
He drew her to his breast and kissed her, and with a look of fervent, sorrowful love, was leaving the room, when Richard entered by another door. He intercepted the glance, and returned it to John with one of contemptuous defiant anger. It did not help to soothe Richard that John looked unusually handsome. There was a fire and persuasion in his face, a tenderness and grace in his manner, that was very irritating, and Richard could neither control his hands nor his tongue. He began at once to feel for his pistol. “Why is John Millard here?” he asked of Phyllis. “Answer me that.”
“He is here to promise me that he will not put the name of Phyllis Fontaine in the month of every drunken gambler and scornful man and woman to satisfy his own selfish, false pride.”
“He is too big a coward to fight a gentleman, he prefers fighting half-armed savages; but I propose to honor his behavior with more attention than it deserves unless he runs away.”
“John, dear John, do not mind what Richard says now. He will be sorry for it. If you care for me, ever so little, you will not fight about me. The shame would kill me. I don’t deserve it. I will never marry a man who drags my name into a quarrel. Richard, for our mother’s sake, be yourself. Brother, you ought to protect me! I appeal to you! For God’s sake, dear Richard, give me that pistol!”
“Phyllis,” said John, “I will go. I will not fight. Your desire is sufficient.”