Juno was willing to answer this. “The injuries, thank you, are the merest trifles—all that such a light-weight could inflict.” And she shrugged her shoulders to indicate the futility of young John’s pugilism.
“But,” the surprised Briton interposed, “I thought you said your nephew was too feeble to eat steak or hear poetry.”
Juno could always stem the eddy of her own contradictions—but she did raise her voice a little. “I fancy, sir, that Doctor Beaugarcon knows what he is talking about.”
“Have they apologized yet?” inquired the male honeymooner from the up-country.
“My nephew, sir, nobly consented to shake hands this afternoon. He did it entirely out of respect for Mr. Mayrant’s family, who coerced him into this tardy reparation, and who feel unable to recognize him since his treasonable attitude in the Custom House.”
“Must be fairly hard to coerce a chap you can’t recognize,” said the Briton.
An et cetera now spoke to the honeymoon bride from the up-country: “I heard Doctor Beaugarcon say he was coming to visit you this evening.”
“Yais,” assented the bride. “Doctor Beaugarcon is my mother’s fourth cousin.”
Juno now took—most unwisely, as it proved—a vindictive turn at me. “I knew that your friend, Mr. Mayrant, was intemperate,” she began.
I don’t think that Mrs. Trevise had any intention to ring for Daphne at this point—her curiosity was too lively; but Juno was going to risk no such intervention, and I saw her lay a precautionary hand heavily down over the bell. “But,” she continued, “I did not know that Mr. Mayrant was a gambler.”