Horatia clapped her hands together. “A d-duel? Oh, how f-famous!” A thought occurred to her. “M-Marcus, Pelham isn’t hurt?”
“Not in the least; it is Crosby who is hurt.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said Horatia. “He d-deserves to be hurt. Surely you d-did not think that would annoy me?”
He smiled. “No. It is the sequel that I fear may annoy you. It becomes necessary for you to hold Lethbridge at arm’s length. Do you understand at all, Horry?”
“No,” said Horatia flatly. “I d-don’t!”
“Then I will try to explain. You have made Lethbridge your friend—or shall I say that you have chosen to become his friend?”
“It’s all the same, sir.”
“On the contrary, my dear, there is a vast difference. But however it is, you are, I believe, often in his company.”
“There is n-nothing in that, sir,” Horatia said, her brows beginning to lower.
“Nothing at all,” replied his lordship placidly. “But—you will have to forgive me for speaking plain, Horry—since Pelham has apparently considered the matter to be of enough moment to fight a duel over, there are a very few people who will believe that there is nothing in it.”