"I do."
"And when I have fought him, I fight you!" And the pills rolled steadily at the same pace.
"But—sir?—Why—sir?"
"Because," said Tom, looking him full in the face, "because you, calling yourself a gentleman, and being, more shame for you, one by birth, dare to come here, for a foolish vulgar superstition called honour, to ask me, a quiet medical man, to go and be shot at by a man whom you know to be a drunken, profligate, blackguard: simply because, as you know as well as I, I interfered to prevent his insulting a poor helpless girl: and in so doing, was forced to give him what you, if you are (as I believe) a gentleman, would have given him also, in my place."
"I don't understand you, sir!" said the lad, blushing all the while, as one honestly conscience-stricken; for Tom had spoken the exact truth, and he knew it.
"Don't lie, sir, and tell me that you don't understand; you understand every word which I have spoken, and you know that it is true."
"Lie?"
"Yes, lie. Look you, sir; I have no wish to fight—"
"You will fight, though, whether you wish it or not," said the youth with a hysterical laugh, meant to be defiant.
"But—I can snuff a candle; I can split a bullet on a penknife at fifteen paces."