“Rensley! Dear me!” Sir Anthony’s eyes showed nothing but a mild surprise. “And Merriot refused the challenge, did you say?”
“No, no!” Mr Belfort was shocked. “Nothing of the sort! Good God, man, no! Though I will say that for a moment I’d a notion he was going to rat. But I was quite wrong, Tony: he took up Rensley’s challenge mighty coolly.”
Sir Anthony rose, and walked to the mirror that hung above the fireplace and became busy with the rearrangement of his neck-cloth. “Then what, Charles, gave you the reason to doubt his mettle?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing in the world, I give you my word! Only that I’d an idea this morning that he didn’t relish the affair overmuch. I have the whole thing arranged: I’m acting for him, y’see, and saw Jessup at my rooms a couple of hours since. Between the two of us we had it all fixed as snug as you please for tomorrow, out at Grey’s Inn Fields, and I was off at once to let young Merriot know.”
“And he didn’t seem to be so delighted with the arrangements as you’d expected?”
“Well, he was precious quiet over it — but there’s nothing in the world against him, Tony. Lord, he’s like you, I dare swear, and takes no pleasure in aught until he’s breakfasted.”
“Very possibly,” agreed Sir Anthony, and came away from the mirror.
The Honourable Charles took his gay leave of him, and went off to inform Sir Raymond Orton that the grey mare was bespoken.
For some time after he had gone Sir Anthony remained standing in the middle of the room, staring with supreme vacancy at the opposite wall, and the portrait of his grandfather which hung there. Then he went across to his writing table, and sat down to it, and with great deliberation drew a sheet of paper towards him. He dipped a quill in the inkpot, and inscribed some half a dozen lines on it, signing his name at the end with a bold flourish. He read over what he had written and dusted the paper with sand. It was sealed up with a wafer, and a big blot of red wax, and placed in one of the drawers of the desk. Sir Anthony rose, called for his hat and his cane, and sallied forth into the street.
He went leisurely to White’s, and found there a sprinkling of people, early in the day though it was. He sat down with a journal by the empty fireplace. Various people came and went, amongst them Mr Merriot, with whom Sir Anthony exchanged a pleasant word or two. He said nothing about the prospective duel, but hoped Mr Merriot would dine with him on the following evening. Prudence accepted, placid enough to all outward appearances, but she bore a sinking heart in her breast. The night had brought no good counsel, and with the morning had come the Honourable Charles, who seemed to her of a sudden, a cheerful young brute. She had small hope of keeping her appointment with Sir Anthony, but it would not do to let the large gentleman suspect that. She showed a faint desire to escape from him, and went out presently with Mr Devereux, who desired her advice in the choosing of a flowered waistcoat.