t will seem yet more strange to you that I came
prepared to accept at your hands any extremity of dishonour and not
fight. The lady whom it is my boast to serve has honoured me with her
commands. These are my law, and by these your life is sacred.

AUSTIN. Then, sir (_with his hand upon the bell_), this conversation
becomes impossible. You have me at too gross a disadvantage; and, as you
are a gentleman and respect another, I would suggest that you retire.

FENWICK. Sir, you speak of disadvantage; think of mine. All my life
long, with all the forces of my nature, I have loved this lady. I came
here to implore her to be my wife, to be my queen; my saint she had been
always! She was too noble to deceive me. She told me what you know. I
will not conceal that my first mood was of anger: I would have killed
you like a dog. But, Mr. Austin--bear with me a while--I, on the
threshold of my life, who have made no figure in the world, nor ever
shall now, who had but one treasure, and have lost it--if I, abandoning
revenge, trampling upon jealousy, can supplicate you to complete my
misfortune--O Mr. Austin! you who have lived, you whose gallantry is
beyond the insolence of a suspicion, you who are a man crowned and
acclaimed, who are loved, and loved by such a woman--you who excel me in
every point of advantage, will you suffer me to surpass you in
generosity?

AUSTIN. You speak from the heart. (_Sits._) What do you want with me?

FENWICK. Marry her.

AUSTIN. Mr. Fenwick, I am the older man. I have seen much of life, much
of society, much of love. When I was young, it was expected of a
gentleman to be ready with his hat to a lady, ready with his sword to a
man; to honour his word and his king; to be courteous with his equals,
generous to his dependants, helpful and trusty in friendship. But it was
not asked of us to be quixotic. If I had married every lady by whom it
is my fortune--not my merit--to have been distinguished, the Wells would
scarce be spacious enough for my establishment. You see, sir, that while
I respect your emotion, I am myself conducted by experience. And
besides, Mr. Fenwick, is not love a warfare? has it not rules? have not
our fair antagonists their tactics, their weapons, their place of arms?
and is there not a touch of--pardon me the word! of silliness in one
who, having fought and having vanquished, sounds a parley, and
capitulates to his own prisoner? Had the lady chosen, had the fortune of
war been