“Honour,” said Washer, “'l'honneur, die Ehre' duelling, unfaithful wives—”
He was clearly going to add to this, but it was lost; for the little fat man, taking the meerschaum with trembling fingers, and holding it within two inches of his chin, murmured:
“You fellows, Berryman's awf'ly strong on honour.”
He blinked twice, and put the meerschaum back between his lips.
Without returning the third volume to its shelf, Berryman took down a fourth; with chest expanded, he appeared about to use the books as dumb-bells.
“Quite so,” said Trimmer; “the change from duelling to law courts is profoundly—”
Whether he were going to say “significant” or “insignificant,” in Shelton's estimate he did not know himself. Fortunately Berryman broke in:
“Law courts or not, when a man runs away with a wife of mine, I shall punch his head!”
“Come, come!” said Turner, spasmodically grasping his two wings.
Shelton had a gleam of inspiration. “If your wife deceived you,” he thought, looking at Trimmer's eyes, “you 'd keep it quiet, and hold it over her.”