“That, I believe, took him very little time to decide. I discovered, by means of a gentleman at the Opera who was acquainted with him, where he lived, and I waited upon him with an intention to offer my services towards settling the affair by arbitration: for since you call him poor Mr Belfield, I think you will permit me, without offence to his antagonist, to own that his gallantry, though too impetuous for commendation, engaged me in his interest.”
“I hope you don't think,” cried Cecilia, “that an offence to his antagonist must necessarily be an offence to me?”
“Whatever I may have thought,” answered he, looking at her with evident surprise, “I certainly did not wish that a sympathy offensive and defensive had been concluded between you. I could not, however, gain access to Mr Belfield last night, but the affair dwelt upon my mind, and this morning I called at his lodging as soon as it was light.”
“How good you have been!” cried Cecilia; “your kind offices have not, I hope, all proved ineffectual!”
“So valorous a Don Quixote,” returned he, laughing, “certainly merited a faithful Esquire! He was, however, gone out, and nobody knew whither. About half an hour ago I called upon him again; he was then just returned home.”
“Well, Sir?”
“I saw him; the affair was over; and in a short time he will be able, if you will allow him so much honour, to thank you for these enquiries.”
“He is then wounded?”
“He is a little hurt, but Sir Robert is perfectly safe. Belfield fired first, and missed; the Baronet was not so successless.”
“I am grieved to hear it, indeed! And where is the wound?”