"Nay, I am sure you were wrong," said Wilding with a grave air.
"Although I admit that since it is your own hat, you should be the best
judge of its colour, I am, nevertheless, of opinion that it is black."

"And if I were to say that it is white?" asked Blake, feeling mighty
ridiculous.

"Why, in that case you would be confirming my first impression of it,"
answered Wilding, and Trenchard let fly a burst of laughter at sight
of the baronet's furious and bewildered countenance. "And since we are
agreed on that," continued Mr. Wilding, imperturbable, "I hope you'll
join us at supper."

"I'll be damned," roared Blake, "if ever I sit at table of yours, sir."

"Ah!" said Mr. Wilding regretfully. "Now you become offensive."

"I mean to be," said Blake.

"You astonish me!"

"You lie! I don't," Sir Rowland answered him in triumph. He had got it
out at last.

Mr. Wilding sat back in his chair, and looked at him, his face
inexpressibly shocked.

"Will you of your own accord deprive us of your company, Sir Rowland,"
he wondered, "or shall Mr. Trenchard throw you after your hat?"

"Do you mean..." gasped the other, "that you'll ask no satisfaction of
me?"

"Not so. Mr. Trenchard shall wait upon your friends to-morrow, and I
hope you'll afford us then as felicitous entertainment as you do now."

Sir Rowland snorted, and, turning on his heel, made for the door.

"Give you a good night, Sir Rowland," Mr. Wilding called after him.
"Walters, you rascal, light Sir Rowland to the door."

Poor Blake went home deeply vexed; but it was no more than the beginning
of his humiliation at Mr. Wilding's hands--for what can be more
humiliating to a quarrel--seeking man than to have his enemy refuse to
treat him seriously? He and Mr. Wilding met next morning, and before
noon the tale of it had run through Bridgwater that Wild Wilding was at
his tricks again. It made a pretty story how twice he had disarmed and
each time spared the London beau, who still insisted--each time more
furiously--upon renewing the encounter, till Mr. Wilding had been forced
to run him through the sword-arm and thus put him out of all case of
continuing. It was a story that heaped ridicule upon Sir Rowland and did
credit to Mr. Wilding.

Richard heard it, and trembled, enraged and impotent. Ruth heard it, and
was stirred despite herself to a feeling of gratitude towards Wilding
for the patience and toleration he had displayed.

There for a while the