the
meantime Dorrimore had sheathed his sword and stepping close to Vane in
front of Sally Salisbury, he said, dropping his voice so that Sally
should not hear:

"Your friend's right. If we fight it should be over somebody better than
a common trull. What say you to Lavinia Fenton?"

Vane staggered as though Dorrimore had struck him.

"Lavinia Fenton?" he faltered. "What--what do you know--about her? What
is she to you?"

"Simply this--she's mine, and I'll have the blood of any man who
attempts to rob me of her. You tried once, and this follows."

Dorrimore tapped the hilt of his sword.

"I never saw you before, sir, but I take you at your word. I can see now
you've forced this quarrel on me, and for aught I know Mistress
Salisbury may be in the plot. But that doesn't matter. If Miss Fenton is
the cause, I shall fight with a better heart. Jarvis--please arrange
this affair for me. You've a friend at hand, sir, I presume."

Dorrimore dropped his insolent, foppish air. He recognised that Vane,
poverty stricken scribbler though he might be, was a gentleman. He bowed
and turned towards the man who, with Jarvis, had interposed in the early
stages of the altercation. This man was Rofflash. He had dragged Sally
Salisbury some three or four yards away probably to prevent her
interfering and persuading Vane not to fight. Whatever their talk might
have been about, just as Dorrimore turned Vane saw Sally tear herself
from Captain Jeremy's grasp and hurry away, and he became more than ever
persuaded that she had betrayed him. What did it matter? One woman or
another--they were all the same.

He walked apart while Jarvis and Rofflash arranged the preliminaries.
His brain was numbed. He did not care whether he lived or died. Five
minutes later Vane was joined by Jarvis.

"We've settled the business very comfortably," said Jarvis. "Seven
o'clock at Battersea Fields. It's now nearly midnight. We'll get a rest
at the nearest tavern; have a few hours sleep, and you'll wake as fresh
as a lark."

Vane made no reply, and Jarvis sliding his arm within that of his
companion, led him out of the gardens. They took the direction of
Wandsworth, keeping by the river bank, and Jarvis made a halt at a
tumbledown rookery of a waterside tavern--the "Feathers." Vane was so
overwhelmed by the prospect of a possible tragedy that he scarcely
noticed the dirt, the squalidness, the hot and foetid air and the
evil-looking fellows who stared at t