“Sir,—I have received your letter. None but a scoundrel
could have written it! As all prospect of connexion with
your family is now over, you cannot have a pretext for not
affording me such a satisfaction as, had you been a
gentleman in feeling as you are in station, it would never
have been necessary for me to demand from you. I leave this,
to-morrow, for the continent, and will be at Basle by Monday
next. I will remain there for a week at your orders, and
hope that there may be no difficulty to their speedy
fulfilment.
“I am, your obedient and faithful servant,
“Wentworth Gordon GRAHAM.”
“The style is better than yours, Master Loyd, just because it means something. The man is in an honest passion and wants a fight The other fellow was angry, and begged me not to notice it. And so, Sophy, I have spoiled the wedding favours, and scattered the bridesmaids! What a heavy lesson for an impertinent note. Poor thing! why did she trust herself with a pen? Why did she not know that the most fatal of all bottles is the ink bottle? Precious rage old Uncle Geoffrey must be in. I’d like to have one peep at the general discomfiture—the deserted dinner-table, and the empty drawing-room. They deserve it all! they banished me, and much good have they got of it Well, Mr. Wentworth Gordon Graham must have his wicked way. The only difficulty will be to find what is so absurdly misnamed as a friend. I must have a friend; I’ll run up to Milan and search the hotels: I’ll surely find some one who will like the cheap heroism of seeing another man shot at. This is the season when all the fellows who have no money for Baden come across the Alps. I’m certain to chance upon one to suit me.”
Having despatched a short note, very politely worded to Mr. Graham, to the post office, Basle, he ordered a carriage, and set out for Milan.
The city was in full festivity when he arrived, overjoyed at its new-born independence, and proud of the presence of its king. The streets were crowded with a holiday population, and from all the balconies and windows hung costly tapestries, or gay coloured carpets, Military music resounded on all sides, and so dense was the throng of people and carriages, that Calvert could only proceed at a walking pace, none feeling any especial care to make way for a dusty traveller, seated in one of the commonest of country conveyances.
As he moved slowly and with difficulty forwards, he suddenly heard his name called; he looked up, and saw a well known face, that of a brother officer, who had left India on a sick leave along with himself.
“I say, old fellow!” cried Barnard, “this is your ground; draw into that large gate to your right, and come up here.”
In a few seconds, Calvert, escorted by a waiter, was shown to his friend’s apartment.
“I never dreamed of meeting you here, Calvert.”
“Nor I of finding you lodged so sumptuously,” said Calvert, as his eyes ranged over the splendid room, whose massive hangings of silk, and richly gilt ceiling, gave that air of a palace one so often sees in Italian hotels.
“Luck, Sir, luck. I’m married, and got a pot of money with my wife.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, while, with a gesture of his thumb towards an adjoining room, he motioned his friend to be cautious.