“And you don’t think it?”
There was a slight pause. Prudence realised, dismayed, that the group behind her was awaiting curiously her challenge. To conciliate this angry, red-faced man, meant the loss of every man’s good opinion; in a word, it meant social ostracism. A challenge was offered, and it seemed it must be accepted. Pride could not be swallowed. She spoke deliberately. “That question, Mr Rensley, I prefer to leave unanswered.”
“Afraid, eh?”
Egad, was she afraid? She thought she was too much her father’s daughter. A cold anger took her in its hold; she looked Rensley full between the eyes. “You become insulting, sir. I take leave to tell you, since you will have it, that your manners belong to the taproom.”
It was out, and did she regret it? She became aware of Mr Belfort at her elbow, and was conscious of the approval of him and of the others in the circle. No, come what might, the thing had to be, and she regretted nothing.
Mr Rensley flushed darker still. Sure, the man would have an apoplexy one of these days. “I shall send my friends to wait upon yours, Mr Merriot.”
“Certainly, sir.” She looked towards Mr Belfort, who nodded encouragingly. Mr Devereux smiled wearily, and stepped forward a pace. “Mr Belfort will act for me, and Mr Devereux,” she said, and turned to resume her conversation with them.
Mr Rensley bowed stiffly and went out. Belfort clapped Prudence on the shoulder. “Well said, my boy!” he declared. “I knew you’d never swallow that! Gad, it’s a good six months since I’ve acted for anyone. We’ll see some sport now!”
Prudence, her anger evaporating fast, could have found another name for it. “I don’t desire this to come to my sister’s ears, Charles,” she said. “I needn’t warn you, I suppose.”
“Oh, not a word, my dear Merriot, trust me!” promised Mr Belfort. “He’ll name Markham and Jessup his seconds, I dare swear. You’ll choose swords, I take it? We’ll have the whole affair fixed up as snug and quiet as you please.”