"Captain O'Blunderbuss," said Sir Christopher, "she of whom you speak is now Lady Blunt."
"And much good may she do ye, Sir Christopher!" exclaimed the Captain. "But, as I was saying, Miss Morthaunt comes back to London again, smar-rting under the influence of her wrongs, which her brother has resolved to avenge. And, therefore, Sir Christopher, you'll be so good as jist to say whether it shall be on Wor-rmwood Scr-rubs or Wimbledon Common; and we'll be there punctual to-morrow morning at eight o'clock."
The worthy knight looked perfectly aghast. He began to understand the real drift of Captain O'Blunderbuss's visit; and he entertained the most unmitigated abhorrence of the mere idea of a duel.
"Well, Sir Christopher, say the wor-rd!" resumed the gallant gentleman with as much unconcern as if he were making arrangements for a party of pleasure. "But per-rhaps ye'd like to consult a frind—or refer-r me to him. That's the best way! Leave it to your frind and me; and we'll settle everything so comfortable that you'll not have the least throuble in the wor-rld. You can get your breakfast a thrifle earlier than usual——"
"Breakfast!" echoed Sir Christopher, in a deep sepulchral tone; "breakfast—when one is going out to be shot at!"
"Be the power-rs! and why not?" demanded the warlike Captain. "But here we are, wasting our precious time, while we ought to be settling the little business and thrying the pisthols at the Gallery."
"The pistols!" groaned Sir Christopher, his visage lengthening most awfully, and his under-jaw completely dropping through intense alarm.
"Be Jasus! and what would ye fight with, if it isn't pisthols?" cried the Captain.
"But pistols—pistols are so apt to—to—kill people," observed the knight, shaking from head to foot.
"Is it afraid ye are?" demanded Captain O'Blunderbuss, twirling his moustache, as he surveyed Sir Christopher with cool contempt.