“I am at your service,” returned Lord Cecil, with a slight bow.
Percy Levant eyed him with a strange expression, scarcely that of resentment as of dull, heavy sadness.
“I presume, my lord, you conceive that I am here to demand from, or offer, you the satisfaction which an appeal to arms would afford both of us—both of us!” he added, grimly.
“I can only say that I am prepared to accept any proposal you may have to make, Mr. Levant,” said Lord Cecil. “But I am obliged, in honor, to say this: I don’t want you to take it as an apology; great Heavens, no! But I’m bound to say that the words you heard me address to Miss Marlowe the other evening were uttered in complete ignorance that her word was plighted to you or any other gentleman.”
Percy Levant bowed.
“Were you in ignorance that your word was plighted to another lady?” he said, in a low voice.
Lord Cecil’s face flamed, then grew pale, and he sprang from his lounging attitude against the mantel-shelf to an upright position; but, with a palpable effort, he restrained himself.
“That is a rebuke which I have deserved and must submit to, Mr. Levant,” he said, grimly. “It is true that I am engaged to Lady Grace Peyton, and that I had no right to address Miss Marlowe as I did, but”—he turned his face away for a moment—“but I think if you knew all the circumstances of the case, you, even you, would feel more inclined to pity than to condemn me. But I don’t appeal to your consideration. As I said”—with a touch of hauteur—“I am at your disposal, in any way, and at any time.”
“You mean, of course, that you are ready to fight, my lord?”
“You interpret my meaning,” replied Lord Cecil, calmly. “I have no doubt you feel aggrieved. I should if I stood in your place. I have no doubt Miss Marlowe”—his lips quivered—“has told you of our past—our past relationship——”