"Ferrers, if a man had spoken to me as Lady Florence did, his blood
or mine must have flowed. And do you think that words that might have
plunged me into the guilt of homicide if uttered by a man, I could ever
pardon in one whom I had dreamed of for a wife? Never!"

"Pooh, pooh--women's words are wind. Don't throw away so splendid a
match for such a trifle."

"Do you too, sir, mean to impute mercenary motives to me?"

"Heaven forbid! You know I am no coward, but I really don't want to
fight you. Come, be reasonable."

"I dare say you mean well, but the breach is final--all recurrence to it
is painful and superfluous. I must wish you good evening."

"You have positively decided?"

"I have."

"Even if Lady Florence made the _amende honorable_?"

"Nothing on the part of Lady Florence could alter my resolution. The
woman whom an honourable man--an English gentleman--makes the partner of
his life, ought never to listen to a syllable against his fair name: his
honour is hers, and if her lips, that should breathe comfort in calumny,
only serve to retail the lie--she may be beautiful, gifted, wealthy, and
high-born, but he takes a curse to his arms. That curse I have escaped."

"And this I am to say to my cousin?"

"As you will. And now stay, Lumley Ferrers, and hear me. I neither
accuse nor suspect you, I desire not to pierce your heart, and in this
case I cannot fathom your motives; but if it should so have happened
that you have, in any way, ministered to Lady Florence Lascelles'
injurious opinions of my faith and honour, you will have much to answer
for, and sooner or later there will come a day of reckoning between you
and me."

"Mr. Maltravers, there can be no quarrel between us, with my cousin's
fair name at stake, or else we should not now part without preparations
for a more hostile meeting. I can bear your language. _I_, too, though
no philosopher, can forgive. Come, man, you are heated--it is very
natural;--let us part friends--your hand."

"If you can take my hand, Lumley, you are innocent, and I have wronged
you."

Lumley smiled, and cordially pressed the hand of his old friend.

As he descended the stairs, Maltravers followed, and just as Lumley
turned into Curzon Street, the carriage whirled rapidly past him, and by
the lamps he saw the pale and stern face of Maltravers.

It was a slow, drizzling rain,--one of those unwholesome nights frequent
in London towards the end of autumn. Ferrers, howev