“I should regret it, sir, if I was aware you did me the honor to expect me.”
“I am the friend of Serjeant Nickolls, sir,” said the other, in a voice meant to be eloquently meaning.
“For your sake, the fact is to be deplored,” answered Daly, calmly. “But proceed.”
With a great effort to subdue his passion, the other resumed: “It does not require your experience in such matters to know that the insult you have passed upon a high-minded and honorable gentleman—the gross and outrageous insult—should be atoned for by a meeting. We are here for this purpose, ready to accompany you, as soon as you have provided yourself with a friend, to wherever you appoint.”
“Are you aware,” said Daly, in a whisper, “that I am bound over in heavy recognizances—”
“Ah, indeed!” interrupted the other; “that, perhaps, may explain—”
“Explain what, sir?” said Daly, as he grasped the formidable weapon which, more club than walking-stick, he invariably carried.
“I meant nothing; I would only observe—”
“Never observe, sir, when there's nothing to be remarked. I was informing you that I am bound over to keep the peace in this same kingdom of Ireland; circumstances compel me to be in England to-morrow morning,—circumstances of such moment that I have myself hired a vessel to convey me thither,—and although the object of my journey is far from agreeable, I shall deem it one of the happiest coincidences of my life if it can accommodate your friend's wishes. Nothing prevents my giving him the satisfaction he desires on English ground. I have sincere pleasure in offering him, and every gentleman of his party, a passage over—the tide serves in half an hour. Eh, Sandy?”
“At a quarter to twelve, sir.”