"I've made up my mind to shoot him," answered the other doggedly. "What's the use of jawing about it? These things should be done at once, my good fellow. If we have to go abroad, we'll start to-morrow night."
"I'd better try and hunt him up without delay," said Tom. "It's easier to find a fellow now than in the middle of the season, but I might not hit upon him to-night, nevertheless."
Lord Bearwarden looked at his watch. "Try his club," said he. "If he dines there, it's about the time. They'll know his address at any rate, and if you look sharp you might catch him at home dressing for dinner. I'll wait here and we'll have a mutton-chop when you come in. Stick to him, Tom. Don't let him back out. It would have saved a deal of trouble," added his lordship, while the other hurried off, "if I could have caught that cab to-day. She'd have been frightened, though, and upset. Better as it is, perhaps, after all."
Mr. Ryfe did not suffer the wheels of his chariot to tarry, nor the grass to grow beneath his feet. Very few minutes elapsed before he found himself waiting in the strangers' room of a club much affected by Dick Stanmore, comforted with a hall-porter's assurance that the gentleman he sought had ordered dinner, and could not fail to arrive almost immediately. He had scarcely taken up the evening paper when Mr. Stanmore came in.
Anything less like a conscience-stricken Lothario, burdened with the guilt of another man's wife, can scarcely be imagined. Dick's eye was bright, his cheek blooming, his countenance radiant with health, happiness, and the light from within that is kindled by a good conscience and a loving heart. He came up to Ryfe with a merry greeting on his lips, but stopped short, marking the gravity of that gentleman's face and the unusual formality of his bow.
"My errand is a very painful one," said Tom. "I regret to say, Mr. Stanmore, that I have come to you on a most unpleasant business."
"I thought you'd come to dinner," answered Dick, no whit disconcerted. "Never mind. Let's have it out. I dare say it's not half so bad as it seems."
"It could not possibly be worse," was the solemn rejoinder. "It involves life and honour for two gentlemen, both of whom I respect and esteem. For the sake of one, a very dear friend, I have consented to be here now. Mr. Stanmore, I come to you on behalf of Lord Bearwarden."
Dick started. The old wound was healed, and, indeed, perfectly cured now, but the skin had not yet grown quite callous over that injured part.
"Go on," said he. "Why didn't Lord Bearwarden come himself?"