"Felix," she said, "you won't mention that to Mr. Montague!"
"Mention what? Oh! about that woman, Mrs. Hurtle? Indeed I shall. A man who does that kind of thing ought to be crushed;—and, by heavens, if he does it to you, he shall be crushed."
"I want to tell you, Felix. If it is so, I will see him no more."
"If it is so! I tell you I know it."
"Mamma has written to Roger. At least I feel sure she has."
"What has she written to him for? What has Roger Carbury to do with our affairs?"
"Only you said he knew! If he says so, that is, if you and he both say that he is to marry that woman,—I will not see Mr. Montague again. Pray do not go to him. If such a misfortune does come, it is better to bear it and to be silent. What good can be done?"
"Leave that to me," said Sir Felix, walking out of the room with much fraternal bluster. Then he went forth, and at once had himself driven to Paul Montague's lodgings. Had Hetta not been foolish enough to remind him of his duty, he would not now have undertaken the task. He too, no doubt, remembered as he went that duels were things of the past, and that even fists and sticks are considered to be out of fashion. "Montague," he said, assuming all the dignity of demeanour that his late sorrows had left to him, "I believe I am right in saying that you are engaged to marry that American lady, Mrs. Hurtle."
"Then let me tell you that you were never more wrong in your life. What business have you with Mrs. Hurtle?"
"When a man proposes to my sister, I think I've a great deal of business," said Sir Felix.