e predicament into which his own stupidity and the
amiable colonel's impetuous good offices had plunged him. He was
horrified. Here was Courtlandt carrying the apology, and hot on his heels
was the colonel, with the final arrangements for the meeting. He ran to
the door, bareheaded, took the stairs three and four at a bound. But the
energetic Anglo-Indian had gone down in bounds also; and when the
distracted artist reached the street, the other was nowhere to be seen.
Apparently there was nothing left but to send another apology. Rather than
perform so shameful and cowardly an act he would have cut off his hand.

The Barone, pale and determined, passed the second note to Courtlandt who
was congratulating himself (prematurely as will be seen) on the peaceful
dispersion of the war-clouds. He was dumfounded.

"You will excuse me," he said meekly. He must see Abbott.

"A moment," interposed the Barone coldly. "If it is to seek another
apology, it will be useless. I refuse to accept. Mr. Abbott will fight, or
I will publicly brand him, the first opportunity, as a coward."

Courtlandt bit his mustache. "In that case, I shall go at once to Colonel
Caxley-Webster."

"Thank you. I shall be in my room at the villa the greater part of the
day." The Barone bowed.

Courtlandt caught the colonel as he was entering his motor-boat.

"Come over to tiffin."

"Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere else."

When the motor began its racket, Courtlandt pulled the colonel over to
him.

"Do you know what you have done?"

"Done?" dropping his eye-glass.

"Yes. Knowing that Abbott would have no earthly chance against the
Italian, I went to him and forced him to write an apology. And you have
blown the whole thing higher than a kite."

The colonel's eyes bulged. "Dem it, why didn't the young fool tell me?"

"Your hurry probably rattled him. But what are we going to do? I'm not
going to have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother; though, just now, he
regards me as a mortal enemy. Perhaps I am," moodily. "I have deceived
him, and somehow--blindly it is true--he knows it. I am as full of deceit
as a pomegranate is of seeds."

"Have him send another apology."

"The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He would refuse to accept it, and said
so."

"Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!"

"With pleasure, but that will not stop the row. There is a way out, but it
appeals to me as damnably low."

"Oh, Abbott will not run. He i