“It was, however, what I said about your driving over with Miss Rebecca Graham to the Burnside that led to all this.”
“Nothing of the kind, I assure you.”
“Well, I don't care for the reason,” said she, impatiently; “but you have had a quarrel, and are about to settle it by a duel. I have no doubt,” continued she, more rapidly, “that you, Mr. Maitland, can treat this sort of thing very lightly. I suppose it is part of your code as man of the world to do so; but this old man is a father; his life, however little you may think of it, is of very great consequence to his family; he is an old friend and neighbor whom we all care for, and any mishap that might befall him would be a calamity to us all.”
“Pray continue,” said he, softly; “I am giving you all my attention. Having given the sketch of one of so much value to his friends, I am waiting now to hear of the other whom nobody is interested for.”
“This is no time for sarcasm, however witty, Mr. Maitland; and I am sure your better feeling will tell you that I could not have come here to listen to it. Do not be offended with me for my bluntness, nor refuse what I have asked you.”
“You have not asked anything from me,” said he, smiling.
“Well, I will now,” said she, with more courage in her tone; “I will ask you not to go any further in this affair,—to pledge your word to me that it shall stop here.”
“Remember I am but one; any promise I may make you can only take effect with the concurrence of another.”
“I know nothing—I want to know nothing—of these subtleties; tell me flatly you'll not give this old man a meeting.”
“I will, if you 'll only say how I am to avoid it. No, no; do not be angry with me,” said he, slightly touching the hand that rested on his arm. “I'd do far more than this to win one, even the faintest smile that ever said, 'I thank you;' but there is a difficulty here. You don't know with what he charges me.”