Ipsden. “How do you make that out?”
Gatty. “But, of course, you are not a coward, too.”
Ipsden (ironically). “You surprise me with your moderation, sir.”
Gatty. “Then you will waive your rank—you are a lord, I believe-and give me satisfaction.”
Ipsden. “My rank, sir, such as it is, engages me to give a proper answer to proposals of this sort; I am at your orders.”
Gatty. “A man of your character must often have been called to an account by your victims, so—so—” (hesitating) “perhaps you will tell me the proper course.”
Ipsden. “I shall send a note to the castle, and the colonel will send me down somebody with a mustache; I shall pretend to remember mustache, mustache will pretend he remembers me; he will then communicate with your friend, and they will arrange it all for us.”
Gatty. “And, perhaps, through your licentiousness, one or both of us will be killed.”
Ipsden. “Yes! but we need not trouble our heads about that—the seconds undertake everything.”
Gatty. “I have no pistols.”