"Indeed, I can forgive him a good deal for that," Pynsent eagerly cried out, and she took his arm, and he led off his little prize in the direction of the supper-room.
She had no great desire for that repast, though it was served in Rincer's well known style, as the county paper said, giving an account of the entertainment afterward; indeed, she was very distraite; and exceedingly pained and unhappy about Pen. Captious and quarrelsome; jealous and selfish; fickle and violent and unjust when his anger led him astray; how could her mother (as indeed Helen had by a thousand words and hints) ask her to give her heart to such a man? And suppose she were to do so, would it make him happy?
But she got some relief at length, when at the end of half an hour—a long half-hour it had seemed to her—a waiter brought her a little note in pencil from Pen, who said, "I met Cooky below ready to fight me; and I asked his pardon. I'm glad I did it. I wanted to speak to you to-night, but will keep what I had to say till you come home. God bless you. Dance away all night with Pynsent, and be very happy. Pen."—Laura was very thankful for this letter, and to think that there was goodness and forgiveness still in her mother's boy.
Pen went down stairs, his heart reproaching him for his absurd behavior to Laura, whose gentle and imploring looks followed and rebuked him; and he was scarcely out of the ball-room door but he longed to turn back and ask her pardon. But he remembered that he had left her with that confounded Pynsent. He could not apologize before him. He would compromise, and forget his wrath, and make his peace with the Frenchman.
The chevalier was pacing down below in the hall of the inn when Pen descended from the ball-room; and he came up to Pen, with all sorts of fun and mischief lighting up his jolly face.
"I have got him in the coffee-room," he said, "with a brace of pistols and a candle. Or would you like swords on the beach? Mirobolant is a dead hand with the foils, and killed four gardes-du-corps with his own point in the barricades of July."
"Confound it," said Pen, in a fury, "I can't fight a cook!"
"He is a Chevalier of July," replied the other. "They present arms to him in his own country."
"And do you ask me, Captain Strong, to go out with a servant?" Pen asked fiercely; "I'll call a policeman for him; but—but—"