“I know it don’t make any odds to you: you won’t have to fix the arrangements with him! If you want to fight, get your cousin to act for you!”
“He won’t do it,” Martin said briefly. “The first thing is to tell Ulverston you are willing to stand his friend.”
“If Theo Frant won’t second you, you are wrong!” said Mr. Warboys.
But Martin had already stormed out of the house, leaving his long-suffering friend to search in his father’s library for a copy of the Code of Honour. Careful perusal of this invaluable work revealed the fact that the first duty of a second was to seek a reconciliation. Mr. Warboys spent the rest of the evening endeavouring to compress into as few words as could conveniently be written on a small slate a moving appeal to his prospective colleague to assist him in promoting this excellent object.
Martin rode back to Stanyon. That a meeting with Ulverston at the dinner-table must be attended by considerable embarrassment he knew, but his temper was too much chafed to permit of his caring for that. He did not even consider it; still less did he consider what must be the unpleasant consequences of killing the Viscount, which he was determined to do. In blackbrowed silence he allowed his valet to help him to change his riding-dress for his evening-coat and knee-breeches; in the same dangerous mood he left his room, and strode along the gallery in the direction of the Grand Stairway. He was checked by the Earl’s voice, speaking his name, and looked round to see that Gervase had come out of his own room. He said curtly. “Well?”
“Come into my room! I want to speak to you.”
“I have nothing to say to you, St. Erth!”
“But I have something to say to you. Here, if you wish, but I had rather it were in a less public place.”
“I know what you mean to say, and you may spare your breath!”
“You don’t know it.”