Two ladies, standing on the balcony above, saw the carriage draw up, but without giving it thought. They were engaged in a conversation more interesting than the sight of an empty hack, or even the speculation as to who was about to be taken by it to the boat. The ladies were Julia Girdwood and Cornelia Inskip; the subject of their converse the “difficulty” that had occurred between Captain Maynard and Mr Swinton, which, having been all day the talk of the hotel, had, of course, penetrated to their apartment.
Cornelia was sorry it had occurred. And, in a way, so also was Julia.
But in another way she was not. Secretly she took credit to herself for being the cause, and for this reason secretly felt gratification. It proved to her, so ran her surmises, that both these men must have had her in their mind as they quarrelled over their cups; though she cared less for the thoughts of Swinton than of Maynard.
As yet she was not so interested in either as to be profoundly anxious about the affair. Julia Girdwood’s was not a heart to be lost, or won, within the hour.
“Do you think they will have a duel?” asked the timid Cornelia, trembling as she put the inquiry.
“Of course they will,” responded the more daring Julia. “They cannot well get out of it—that is, Mr Swinton cannot.”
“And suppose one of them should kill the other?”
“And suppose they do—both of them—kill one another? It’s no business of ours.”
“Oh, Julia! Do you think it is not?”
“I’m sure it isn’t. What have we got to do with it? I should be sorry, of course, about them, as about any other foolish gentlemen who see fit to take too much drink. I suppose that’s what did it.”