“I believe I ought to apologize for the unseasonable hour, sir,” blundered out Grounsell, who was completely thrown off his balance by this excessive urbanity; “but the cause must plead for me.”
“Any cause which has conferred the honor on me is sure of being satisfactory. Pray come nearer the table. You 'll find that macaroni eat better than it looks. The old Duke de Montmartre always recommended macaroni to be served on wood. His maxim was, 'Keep the “plat d'argent” for a mayonnaise or a galantine.'”
“Excuse me if I cannot join you, sir. Nothing but a matter of extreme importance could warrant my present intrusion. I only reached this city a few hours back, and I find everything at the Mazzarini Palace in a state of discord and confusion. Some are questions for time and consideration; others are more immediately pressing. One of these is this affair of George Onslow's. Who is he about to meet, and for what?”
“His antagonist is a very agreeable young man; quite a gentleman, I assure you, attached to the French mission here, and related to the 'Morignys,' whom you must have met at 'Madame Parivaux's' formerly.”
“Never heard of one of them, sir. But what's the quarrel?”
“It originated, I believe, in some form of disputation,—an altercation,” simpered Jekyl, as he sweetened and sipped his coffee.
“A play transaction,—a gambling affair, eh?”
“I fancy not; Count Guilmard does not play.”
“So far, so good,” said Grounsell. “Now, sir, how is it to be arranged?—what settlement can be effected? I speak to you frankly, perhaps bluntly, Mr. Jekyl, for my nature has few sympathies with courteous ambiguities. Can this business be accommodated without a meeting?”
Jekyl shook his head, and gave a soft, plaintive little sigh.