Mr. Taverner put down his wine-glass. “Am I to understand an affair of honour? You cannot mean that!”
Peregrine shrugged. “There was no avoiding it. The fellow insulted me, I landed him a facer, and received his challenge.”
“I am sorry for it,” Mr. Taverner said, with a grave look.
“Oh, as to that I do not anticipate any very serious consequences,” said Peregrine. “But it is well to be prepared, you know. I was writing a letter to Judith, and another to—to Miss Fairford when you came in, in case I should be fatally injured.”
“I take it it is impossible for you to draw back?”
“Quite impossible,” said Peregrine decidedly. “I need not engage your silence, I am sure. You will understand that I don’t want the affair to come to my sister’s or to Miss Fairford’s ears.”
Mr. Taverner bowed. “Certainly. You may trust me in that. Who acts for you?”
“Fitzjohn.” Peregrine fidgeted with his fob. “Bernard, if anything should happen to me—if I should not return, in short—you will keep your eye upon Judith, won’t you? She is in Worth’s hands, of course, but she don’t like him, and you are our cousin, and will see she don’t come to harm.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Taverner rather curtly. He got up. “I’ll leave you now; you have your affairs to settle. Believe me, I am sorry for this.”
Peregrine spent the rest of the day very sensibly. He went to Jackson’s Saloon, and forgot his troubles in sparring; and from there drove to Albemarle Street to solicit permission to take Miss Fairford in the Park in his tilbury. Dinner at Richardson’s Hotel, a visit to Drury Lane, and supper at the Piazza Coffee House ended the day, and he returned soon after midnight to Brook Street too weary to be kept long awake by his thoughts.