This effectually put a period to his amusement. Grasping her wrist with his sound hand, he exclaimed, “Is this true? By God, I have a very good mind to box your ears! Do you imagine that I am afraid of Charles Rivenhall?”
“No, I daresay you are not, but only conceive how shocking it would be if Charles perhaps killed you, all through my fault!”
“Nonsense!” he said angrily. “As if either of us were crazy enough to let it come to that, which, I assure you, we are not — ”
“No, I feel you are right, but also I think Mr. Wychbold was right in thinking that Charles would — what does he call it? — plant you a facer?”
“Very likely, but although I may be no match for Rivenhall, I might still give quite a tolerable account of myself!”
She began to wind a length of lint round his forearm. “It could not answer,” she said. “If you were to floor Charles, Cecy would not like it above half; and if you imagine, my dear Charlbury, that a black eye and a bleeding nose will help your cause with her, you must be a great gaby!”
“I thought,” he said sarcastically, “that she was to be made to pity me?”
“Exactly so! And that is the circumstance which decided me to shoot you!” said Sophy triumphantly.
Again, he was quite unable to help laughing. But the next moment he was testily pointing out to her that she had made so thick a bandage round his arm as to prevent his being able to drag the sleeve of his coat over it.
“Well, the sleeve is quite spoilt, so it is of no consequence,” said Sophy. “You may button the coat across your chest, and I will fashion you a sling for your arm. To be sure, it is only a flesh wound, but it will very likely start to bleed again, if you do not hold your arm up. Let us go downstairs, and see whether Mathilda has yet made tea for us!”