"Very simply."
"Ah, Pancras, you mean a—duel? No no, not that—you shall not—I forbid such folly!" The Viscount smiled. "He'd kill you, Pan, I know it—feel it!" The Viscount's smile grew a little rueful.
"None the less, 'twould resolve the problem—at least for me," he answered.
"But, Pancras, see how clumsily! O Lud, these meddling men!" she sighed.
"Heavens, these wilful women!" he retorted.
"Still, Sir Wiseacre, being a woman I'll meet and outwit the beast with a woman's weapons. So now prithee let there be no thought of such clumsy weapons as this!" and tapping the ornate hilt of the Viscount's sword, she rose. "Come," said she, reaching him her hand, "take me within-doors and I will stay thee with flagons."
Now as they crossed the broad lawn together the balmy air was suddenly pierced by a shrill and flute-like whistle.
"Aha!" exclaimed the Viscount, stopping suddenly to glance about.
As he stood thus he was amazed by an object which, hurtling from on high, thudded upon the grass, and stepping forward he picked up a much worn and battered shoe. From this sorry object his gaze, travelling aloft, presently discovered a figure which had wriggled itself half out of a small dormer window beneath the eaves and, despite this perilous position, was beckoning to him vigorously.
"Oho!" exclaimed the Viscount, turning to my lady Betty. "So you have him here, 'tis as I thought!" But when he would have waved and saluted his lordship of Medhurst in return, Betty stayed him with a gesture.