Frederick fell back to the door. In her eagerness Mevrouw put through her big heliotrope-crowned head. “My dear, he won’t ask her,” breathed Frederick.
“What?” cried the lady, casting furious glances towards the young officer, erect and helpless in the middle of the bare, blazing room. “Go to him, Frederick, at once! Tell him he’s a coward and no gentleman! Tell him you’ll horsewhip him! No, you can’t do that, you’re a Judge. Tell him one of her brothers will horsewhip him! Guy ought to. I’ll make him do it!” She pushed forward her small husband, who reluctantly returned to the charge.
“You have behaved very badly, Mynheer,” he began. “You must permit me to say that.” He looked round nervously. Mevrouw Elizabeth, distrusting the atmosphere of calm, had come forward into the full light, and was unconsciously straining nearer. “That your conduct is ”—he raised his voice—“not such as one has a right to expect from a gentleman. And here the matter must end.” He turned hastily; Mevrouw Elizabeth stood close behind him.
“Say it is blackguardly,” she hissed.
“I won’t!” replied Frederick van Rexelaer, in a funk.
“It is blackguardly, Mynheer,” cried the matron, pushing past. “You are a coward, Mynheer, and no gentleman.”
Gerard retreated towards the gas-smitten wall, looking, in his tight-fitting blue-black hussar uniform, like an Apollo in utter disgrace. He wondered, for a moment, whether the woman was going to strike him.
“My son shall speak to you, Mynheer, as you deserve,” shrieked Mevrouw Elizabeth. “My son! I will send you my son, sir, to settle this matter.”
“Oh, do, Mevrouw, do!” eagerly exclaimed Gerard, in a sudden rush of relief.