“But this puir Templemore laddie. I kenned his father weel—man Jack, ye’ll no’ fecht the boy?”
“Pray, how may I avoid it, Hector? If he annoyed me t’other night—as he must ha’ done, it seems that I affronted him in turn most flagrantly—there is his wig to prove it! How, then, can I possibly refuse him satisfaction? You have fought ere now and must appreciate the delicacy of my position.”
“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector, and took another turn up and down the room.
“Do not distress yourself,” sighed Sir John; “if we must fight I shall endeavour to disarm him merely——”
“And may accidentally kill the lad, swordsman though ye be, John ... remember Charles Tremayne! So, man Jack, ye’ll juist no’ fight the laddie.”
“Not fight?” echoed Sir John.
“Having regaird tae his extreme youth and inexperience and y’r ain reputation as a duellist and man o’ bluid....”
“But, Hector, you must see that if I refuse on account of his youth ’twill make him the laughing-stock of all Paris.”
“Why then, Johnnie lad, ye maun juist rin awa’——”
“Run away, Hector?”