Therefore he became disquieted. He had some reason for disquiet, for, to begin with, he had done very well. Tom Rising would recover, it was thought. He would recover in a week or two, or more. He would then, as a man of honour, have to raise, by hook or by crook, the sum of £1,200, of which, by the compact, one-fourth was to be the colonel's and three-fourths were the earl's. This is a large sum of money to win or to lose. Now, if anything inopportune was to occur, such as the revival of an old scandal—say that of Bath, or that of Tunbridge Wells, or that of Newmarket, these winnings would be in a dangerous situation.
A gentleman who lives by his wits, although he may be a good swordsman and a good shot with a pistol, cannot escape the consequences of a scandal. The thing follows him from place to place. It gets into taverns and hangs about gaming-houses; it stands between him and his prey; it snatches the young and inexperienced player from his grasp; it even prevents the payment of the debts commonly called of honour. Now, the colonel had been about town and in the haunts of gamesters for a good score of years, and, truth to tell, he now found it difficult, anywhere, to be received into the company of gentlemen.
While he sat in the empty room one of the gentlemen, its frequenters, came in. The colonel looked up.
"Why, sir," he said, "where is the company this evening?"
"There will be no company to-night, colonel."
"Ay—ay? No company? Where are they all, then?"
"To be frank with you, Colonel Lanyon, I am deputed to inform you that certain things are rumoured about you which must be explained."
"Certain things, sir?" The colonel sprang to his feet. "To be explained? This is a very ugly word. To be explained. The word, sir, attacks my honour."
"It does so, colonel. You are quite right."
"Then, sir, you and your friends will have to fight me."