“Count three and throw it in the air,” he said. “You understand?” he added, addressing Trafford.
Trafford inclined his head. He scarcely realized what was happening, and yet he felt the rude justice of it. It was true that he had married Esmeralda for her money, and, so far, Varley Howard was only exacting his right.
Well, so be it. As for him, Trafford, now that he had lost Esmeralda, death would be welcome.
He looked at his revolver, braced himself to the occasion, as the French say, and stood pale and erect. He knew what he intended to do: he would fire above Varley’s head.
“Are you ready?” asked Simon, with the handkerchief in his hand.
“Quite ready,” responded Varley in his most languid tones.
“I am ready,” said Trafford, hoarsely.
Simon looked from one to the other.
“Can’t this be settled?” he asked.
“No!” said Varley, sternly. “This man and I have got a long account to square.”