The draper stiffened. “I do not wish to hear anything from that man, my lawyer has the matter in hand.”
Wynter waved his hand. “This is not a lawyer’s business, but a personal one—my friend Reckavile feels that you have a distinct grievance, in fact that you have the right to demand satisfaction. He is willing to waive his rank, and will meet you, if you will nominate a second with whom I may arrange details.”
“A second, I don’t understand,” said the bewildered Wheatland.
“Exactly, a friend who will act for you. You can then fight for the lady. He feels that as the aggrieved party you have the right to challenge, but you might feel diffident on account of the disparity in rank.” He produced his Cartel and spread it out.
The little man’s eyes fairly bulged in his head.
“Either you are playing a very discreditable practical joke, or your friend is mad. Fight, sir, I never heard such rubbish. Are we back in the Middle Ages? The Law, sir, will give me protection, and I shall immediately communicate with my solicitor to stop this murderous ruffian.”
Then his manner changed, and in a whining tone he said, “Is it not enough that he has seduced my wife, whom I loved with all my heart, but he must seek my life as well.”
Wynter felt uncomfortable, and cursed himself for coming.
He rose to his feet, and buttoned up his coat, thrusting his famous challenge into his pocket.
“Then I may take it, Mr. Wheatland, that you will not fight,” he said.