But already there had passed between me and the lady a quick glance of the eyes which told her everything.
Her hands slipped from my arm. “I leave my husband's life and my own happiness to Colonel Gerard,” said she.
How well she knew me, this admirable woman! I stood for an instant irresolute, with the pistol cocked in my hand. My antagonist faced me bravely, with no blenching of his sunburnt face and no flinching of his bold, blue eyes.
“Come, come, sir, take your shot!” cried the colonel from the mat.
“Let us have it, then,” said Lord Dacre.
I would, at least, show them how completely his life was at the mercy of my skill. So much I owed to my own self-respect. I glanced round for a mark. The colonel was looking toward my antagonist, expecting to see him drop. His face was sideways to me, his long cigar projecting from his lips with an inch of ash at the end of it.
Quick as a flash I raised my pistol and fired.
“Permit me to trim your ash, sir,” said I, and I bowed with a grace which is unknown among these islanders.
I am convinced that the fault lay with the pistol and not with my aim. I could hardly believe my own eyes when I saw that I had snapped off the cigar within half an inch of his lips. He stood staring at me with the ragged stub of the cigar-end sticking out from his singed mustache. I can see him now with his foolish, angry eyes and his long, thin, puzzled face. Then he began to talk. I have always said that the English are not really a phlegmatic or a taciturn nation if you stir them out of their groove. No one could have talked in a more animated way than this colonel. Lady Jane put her hands over her ears.
“Come, come, Colonel Berkeley,” said Lord Dacre, sternly, “you forget yourself. There is a lady in the room.”