Arundel Dacre returned to his cousin, and, seating himself at the table, took up a book, and began reading it the wrong side upwards; then he threw down a ball of silk, then he cracked a knitting-needle, and then with a husky sort of voice and a half blush, and altogether an air of infinite confusion, he said, ‘This has been an odd affair, May, of the Duke of St. James and Sir Lucius Grafton?’
‘A very distressing affair, Arundel.’
‘How singular that I should have been his second, May?’
‘Could he have found anyone more fit for that office, Arundel?’
‘I think he might. I must say this: that, had I known at the time the cause of the fray, I should have refused to accompany him.’
She was silent, and he resumed:
‘An opera singer, at the best! Sir Lucius Grafton showed more discrimination. Peacock Piggott was just the character for his place, and I think my principal, too, might have found a more congenial spirit. What do you think, May?’
‘Really, Arundel, this is a subject of which I know nothing.’
‘Indeed! Well, it is odd, May; but do you know I have a queer suspicion that you know more about it than anybody else.’
‘I! Arundel?’ she exclaimed, with marked confusion.