“He wasn’t killed, sir. No one was hurt at all.”
“You amaze me,” said the gentleman.
“Mr. Comyn would have been killed,” Miss Challoner admitted, “but I stopped it. I thought it was time.”
The gentleman surveyed her with distinct admiration, not untouched by amusement. “Of course I should have known that you stopped it,” he said. “What means did you employ this time?”
“Rather rough-and-ready ones, sir. I tried to catch the blades in a coat.”
“I am disappointed,” he said. “I had imagined a far neater scheme. Were you hurt?”
“A little, sir. His lordship’s sword scratched me, no more. That ended the duel. Mr. Comyn said that he must tell Lord Vidal the truth about us, and feeling myself somewhat shaken, I retired to my chamber.” She paused, and drew a long breath. “Before I had reached the stairway, his lordship’s mother arrived, accompanied, I think, by Lord Rupert Alastair. They did not see me, but I — I heard her grace — say to Lord Vidal — that he must not marry me, and I — I got into the diligence for Paris, which was at the door, and — and came here. That is all my story, sir.”
A silence fell. Conscious of her host’s scrutiny, Miss Challoner averted her face. After a moment she said: “Having heard me, sir, do you still feel inclined to assist me out of my difficulty?”
“I am doubly anxious to assist you, Miss Challoner. But since you have been so frank, I must request you to be yet franker. Am I right in assuming that you love Lord Vidal?”
“Too well to marry him, sir,” said Miss Challoner in a subdued voice.