“Oh, dear sir,” I cried, catching my papa’s arm, “you en’t going to fight that barbarous man?”
“Why, miss, would you have me let him go free? I would shoot him as I would a mad dog.”
“But, sir, a mad dog could not shoot my papa. Why give this miscreant the chance of doing further harm?”
“Would you have me shoot him from behind a wall, miss? Or do you wish all our family affairs spread out for the gossips of Calcutta to feast upon by a trial at the law? No, leave these matters to me, and go to bed again. You may be thankful I took it into my head to sit up to-night, for the pyke was bribed.”
“I am, dear sir, I am indeed!” I cried out, but my papa bade me curb my gratitude and go to bed. And this I did, but my Amelia will guess that there was vastly little sleep for me in the rest of the night, what with thinking of my narrow escape and of Mr Freyne’s projected duel, and endeavouring to frame such affecting arguments as might induce my papa to leave the wretched Menotti to the torments of his own conscience. But I had not the chance I anticipated to display my logical acuteness, for as soon as I had joined Mr Freyne for early breakfast, there came out on the varanda my stepmother’s iya, Bowanny, and said that her mistress had been sobbing and crying all night, and now begged that we would both attend her to hear what she had to tell us. I was prodigiously astonished by such a request, but Mr Freyne seemed in no way surprised, and strode off to his lady’s bedchamber without a word. We found Mrs Freyne, still in the undress she had worn the night before, reclined on a couch, with her hair all tumbled about, and no cap on.
“You see before you, sir,” she said, “the most miserable woman in India.”
Mr Freyne. I fancy, madam, I heard you say something of the same sort last night.
Mrs F. Cruel and hard-hearted man! Would you make the way of penitence as hard to your unhappy wife by your coldness and harshness as you have made the way of concealment easy? But, no; I won’t be led into unbecoming recrimination even by your ill-timed derision, sir. I have sent for you that I may confess the steps by which, as a young and ingenuous creature slighted by her spouse, I was led into inexpedient acts through the arts of an accomplished villain.
Mr F. (excessively angry). Pray, proceed, madam, but if you are confessing your own sins you may as well leave mine alone. ’Tis scarce your part to complain of neglect.
Mrs F. In spite of your unmanly taunts, sir, I’ll strive to preserve both my purpose and my calmness, remembering that I asked your daughter to attend you merely to show that I had nothing in my confession of which to be ashamed. You thought fit, sir, some short time after our marriage, to place a restriction on my diversions, desiring me never to play games of chance for any but beggarly sums. You had reasons for thus limiting me, you said. I didn’t ask ’em then, and I don’t now, but I suppose you feared I might dissipate the money I brought you. Well, sir, you must have known that if you would not oblige me with the means of play, others would, and I felt little difficulty in accepting their kindness. The chief of these obliging persons was Mr Menotti.