“Yes; I’ll tell you all about it. It was before he went away the last time. His sister Agnes was then eighteen; they lived together. She was engaged to poor Hertford, the son of the notorious defaulter, who was no defaulter when that engagement was made. Agnes and Hertford were within a few days of their marriage when the father’s embezzlements were discovered. Now poor young Hertford was not in the least implicated, yet as soon as his father’s disgrace was made manifest, Philip Helmstedt, as the guardian of his sister, broke off the marriage.”
“He could have done no otherwise,” said Marguerite.
“In spite of her pledged word? In spite of her prayers and tears, and distracted grief?”
“He could have done no otherwise,” repeated Marguerite, though her face grew very pale.
“That was not all. The lovers met, arranged a flight, and were about to escape, when Philip Helmstedt discovered them. He insulted the young man, struck him with his riding whip across the face, and bore his fainting sister home. The next day the two men met in a duel.”
“They could have done no otherwise. It was the bloody code of honor!” reiterated Marguerite, yet her very lips were white, as she leaned forward against the top of Nellie’s chair.
“Hertford lost his right arm, and Agnes lost—her reason!”
“My God!”
“Yes; ‘a plague o’ honor,’ I say.”
“Dear Nellie, leave me now; my head aches, and I am tired.”