“None that I know of. Why do you ask?” Sir Anthony was watching a fly hover over the sirloin.
“Oh, no reason!” Mr Belfort answered, mighty offhand.
Sir Anthony regarded him thoughtfully. “He gives you some cause for doubting his courage?” he said, with just enough show of interest to demand an answer.
“My dear fellow, not in the least! It was only that I thought — But the thing’s a secret. Mum’s the word, y’know!”
“Really?” Sir Anthony returned to the contemplation of the fly. “Some weighty matter, I must suppose.”
“Why, as to that, it’s kept close only for fear of Miss Merriot’s getting to hear of it. Never do at all!”
Sir Anthony’s fingers played with the riband that held his eyeglass. “Do you mean,” he said slowly, “that someone has called Merriot out?”
“As a matter of fact, Tony, that’s it,” said Mr Belfort confidentially.
There was a short silence. “Who is the warlike challenger?” Sir Anthony asked.
“Rensley. Molyneux thinks it’s a scandal, and so ’tis if you consider it. However, he was all for a fight, so what was there to be done?”