and
her husband came over with their child, and the entire party, with the
exception of the duellists themselves, settled down to watch the
conflict between Lady Torridon and Beatrice Atherton. Its prolongation
was possible because for days together the hostess retired into a
fortress of silence, whence she looked out cynically, shrugged her
shoulders, smiled almost imperceptibly, and only sallied when she found
she could not provoke an attack. Beatrice never made an assault; was
always ready for the least hint of peace; but guarded deftly and struck
hard when she was directly threatened. Neither would she ever take an
insult; the bitterest dart fell innocuous on her bright shield before
she struck back smiling; but there were some sharp moments of anxiety
now and again as she hesitated how to guard.

A silence would fall suddenly in the midst of the talk and clatter at
table; there would be a momentary kindling of glances, as from the tall
chair opposite the chaplain a psychological atmosphere of peril made
itself felt; then the blow would be delivered; the weapons clashed; and
once more the talk rose high and genial over the battlefield.

* * * * *

The moment when Beatrice's position in the house came nearest to being
untenable, was one morning in January, when the whole party were
assembled on the steps to see the sportsmen off for the day.

Sir James was down with the foresters and hounds at the further end of
the terrace, arranging the details of the day; Margaret had not yet come
out of chapel, and Lady Torridon, who had had a long fit of silence, was
standing with Mary and Nicholas at the head of the central stairs that
led down from the terrace to the gravel.

Christopher and Beatrice came out of the house behind, talking
cheerfully; for the two had become great friends since they had learnt
to understand one another, and Beatrice had confessed to him frankly
that she had been wrong and he right in the matter of Ralph. She had
told him this a couple of days after her arrival; but there had been a
certain constraint in her manner that forbade his saying much in answer.
Here they came then, now, in the frosty sunshine; he in his habit and
she in her morning house-dress of silk and lace, talking briskly.

"I was sure you would understand, father," she said, as they came up
behind the group.

Then Lady Torridon turned and delivered her point, suddenly and
brutally.

"Of cour