“It was an unspoken attachment, my lord, nothing more; and since that terrible event at my house—I am obliged to name it,” he said, with quivering lip—“whatever intimacy existed has been broken off.”
“Humph! Sure, Denville?”
“I have my daughter’s word, my lord. That duel set me thinking; and like another father, my lord, of whom we read, I bespoke her roundly.”
“Oh! come, Denville, don’t compare yourself to Polonius, man. He—he—he!”
“Only to that extent, my lord. As I say, I spoke to her, and she assured me that there was nothing whatever between her and Mr Linnell, but gratitude towards a gentleman who saved her from insult.”
“Denville, that Mellersh is his friend; he ought to have shown the boy how to shoot the scoundrel.”
The MC was trembling with excitement. He was between hope and dread, for he could not but divine what was coming, and in spite of the glittering future it held up to his view he shrank from it with fear.