"No, mother; I wanted nothing but what was fair. Mr. Denbigh would have
had an equal chance to blow out my brains; I am sure everything would have
been fair."

"Equal chance!" muttered his father, who had cooled himself, in some
measure, by an extra pinch of snuff. "No, sir, you have no brains to lose.
But I have promised Sir Edward that you shall make proper apologies to
himself, to his daughter, and to Mr. Denbigh." This was rather exceeding
the truth, but the alderman prided himself on performing rather more than
he promised.

"Apology!" exclaimed the captain. "Why, sir, the apology is due to me. Ask
Colonel Egerton if he ever heard of apologies being made by the
challenger."

"No, sure," said the mother, who, having made out the truth of the matter,
thought it was likely enough to be creditable to her child; "Colonel
Egerton never heard of such a thing. Did you, colonel?"

"Why, madam," said the colonel, hesitatingly, and politely handing the
merchant his snuff-box, which, in his agitation, had fallen on the floor,
"circumstances sometimes justify a departure from ordinary measures. You
are certainly right as a rule; but not knowing the particulars in the
present case, it is difficult for me to decide. Miss Jarvis, the tilbury
is ready."

The colonel bowed respectfully to the merchant, kissed his hand to his
wife, and led their daughter to his carriage.

"Do you make the apologies?" asked Mr. Jarvis, as the door closed.

"No, sir," replied the captain, sullenly

"Then you must make your pay answer for the next sit months," cried the
father, taking a signed draft on his banker from his pocket, coolly
tearing it in two pieces, carefully putting the name in his mouth, and
chewing it into a ball.

"Why, alderman," said his wife (a name she never used unless she had
something to gain from her spouse, who loved to hear the appellation after
he had relinquished the office), "it appears to me that Harry has shown
nothing but a proper spirit. You are unkind--indeed you are."

"A proper spirit? In what way? Do you know anything of the matter?"

"It is a proper spirit for a soldier to fight, I suppose," said the wife,
a little at a loss to explain.

"Spirit, or no spirit, apology, or ten and sixpence."

"Harry," said his mother, holding up her finger in a menacing attitude, as
soon as her husband had left the room (for he had last spoken with the
door in his hand), "if you _do_ beg his pardon, you are no son of