“Sir,” said he, with a pleasing sternness, “you surprise me. You should know the blood of which I come too well to suppose that I would attempt such a thing.”
“I am relieved to hear that there are limits to what you consider to be justifiable. I must confess that I had seen none in your conduct up to now. But you say that you can do me a service which will be worth a thousand pounds to me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And pray, sir, what may this service be?”
“To make Lord Barrymore the laughing-stock of the town.”
Sir Charles, in spite of himself, lost for an instant the absolute serenity of his self-control. He started, and his face expressed his surprise. By what devilish instinct did this raw undergraduate find the one chink in his armour? Deep in his heart, unacknowledged to any one, there was the will to pay many a thousand pounds to the man who would bring ridicule upon this his most dangerous rival, who was challenging his supremacy in fashionable London.
“Did you come from Oxford with this precious project?” he asked, after a pause.
“No, sir. I chanced to see the man himself last night, and I conceived an ill-will to him, and would do him a mischief.”