“Rensley,” said Belfort, “has committed a — damme, a cursed breach of etiquette! You can’t meet the man, Peter. Can he, Dev?”
Mr Devereux was of the opinion that it would be impossible.
A flush sprang up in Prudence’s cheeks. It was of sudden, overwhelming relief, but Mr Belfort took it to betoken anger. “Ay, Peter my boy, I knew you’d take it hard, but positively you can’t meet the man after such a slight.”
“Very shocking business,” Mr Devereux said mournfully. “Can’t understand it at all.”
Prudence had command of herself again. If she must not fight it seemed safe enough to protest a little, as was proper. “But pray let me hear what it is!” she said. “I don’t draw back from an encounter, Charles, be sure.”
“It’s Rensley has drawn back,” Mr Belfort said, still with awful solemnity.
“Not drawn back, Bel. You couldn’t say he had drawn back,” protested Mr Devereux.
“It’s the same thing, Dev. He can’t meet Peter tomorrow, and I say it’s a cursed insult. I shall tell Jessup our man won’t fight.”
“Has Rensley fled the country?” demanded Prudence.
“Worse, my dear boy!”