The Viscount checked in bitter disgust. “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t. Fiend seize it, there must be some way of forcing a quarrel on him without bringing you into it!”
“If you fight him everyone will say it was about m-me, because after you f-fought Crosby people t-talked, and I did silly things—oh, you mustn’t, P-Pel. It’s bad enough with Sir Roland knowing—”
“Pom!” exclaimed the Viscount. “We’ll have him in! He might have a notion how I can manage it.”
“Have him in? W-why, where is he?”
“Outside with the phaeton. You needn’t mind him, Horry; he’s devilish discreet.”
“W-well, if you think he could help us, he can c-come in,” said Horatia dubiously. “But p-please explain it all to him, first, P-Pel, for he must be thinking the most d-dreadful things about me.”
Accordingly, when the Viscount returned presently to the saloon with Sir Roland, that worthy had been put in possession of all the facts. He bowed over Horatia’s hand, and embarked on a somewhat involved apology for his inebriety the night before. The Viscount cut him short. “Never mind about that!” he adjured him. “Can I call Lethbridge out?”
Sir Roland devoted deep thought to this, and after a long pause pronounced the verdict. “No,” he said.
“I m-must say, you’ve got m-much more sense than I thought,” said Horatia approvingly.
“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded the Viscount, “that I’m to sit by while that dog kidnaps my sister, and do nothing? No, damme, I won’t!”