"By God, old chap, I'm proud of you. You're a credit to my up-bringing! Impossible as it may seem you are becoming day by day less and less of the fool that you look."
"I tell you again that girl is your sister."
"Well, what the devil am I to do! You won't let me laugh."
"Then you don't believe it?"
He spread out his hands in a deprecating gesture. "My dear Carstairs!"
Carstairs was thoughtful. "No! I suppose I shouldn't believe it myself," he said. "The man's dead, I have no proof except my word. Your mater might——"
"Leave the mater out of it, Carstairs."
"Ye-es. I think so too. You're not fit to live anyway, and you know my life won't be much to me as long as you're alive."
"Quite so. Quite so. Still there's no need to get personal over it. There is not room for you and I on this little globe. That's it in a nutshell, isn't it? One has to be eliminated, that's obvious; I'm a generous sort of chap, but I can't oblige you in this. I'm in love, yes, by God, in real love for the first and only time. I want that girl, also you want her! We have fought with fists, and you won, but that is not the finish. I'm a sportsman; I'll go back a hundred years with you and we'll fight a duel, eh? A fair and square duel—to a finish."
Carstairs considered, watching him all the time. "What with?" he asked.