ess of this speech, replied
in a similar vein; and the duke, having read and approved the letter,
rose. "There is, in my opinion," said he, "no time to be lost. I will
go to Borodaile this very evening: adieu, mon cher! you shall kill the
Argus, and then carry off the Io. I feel in a double passion with that
ambulating poker, who is only malleable when he is red-hot, when I
think how honourably scrupulous you were with La Meronville last night,
notwithstanding all her advances; but I go to bury Caesar, not to scold
him. Au revoir."

CHAPTER XLV.

Conon.--You're well met, Crates. Crates.--If we part so,
Conon.-Queen of Corinth.

It was as might be expected from the character of the aggressor. Lord
Borodaile refused all apology, and agreed with avidity to a speedy
rendezvous. He chose pistols (choice, then, was not merely nominal), and
selected Mr. Percy Bobus for his second, a gentleman who was much
fonder of acting in that capacity than in the more honourable one of
a principal. The author of "Lacon" says "that if all seconds were as
averse to duels as their principals, there would be very little blood
spilt in that way;" and it was certainly astonishing to compare the
zeal with which Mr. Bobus busied himself about this "affair" with
that testified by him on another occasion when he himself was more
immediately concerned.

The morning came. Mr. Bobus breakfasted with his friend. "Damn it,
Borodaile," said he, as the latter was receiving the ultimate polish of
the hairdresser, "I never saw you look better in my life. It will be a
great pity if that fellow shoots you."

"Shoots me!" said Lord Borodaile, very quietly,--"me! no! that is quite
out of the question; but joking apart, Bobus, I will not kill the young
man. Where shall I hit him?"

"In the cap of the knee," said Mr. Percy, breaking an egg.

"Nay, that will lame him for life," said Lord Borodaile, putting on his
cravat with peculiar exactitude.

"Serve him right," said Mr. Bobus. "Hang him, I never got up so early
in my life: it is quite impossible to eat at this hour. Oh!--a propos,
Borodaile, have you left any little memoranda for me to execute?"

"Memoranda!--for what?" said Borodaile, who had now just finished his
toilet.

"Oh!" rejoined Mr. Percy Bobus, "in case of accident, you know: the man
may shoot well, though I never saw him in the gallery."

"Pray," said Lord Borodaile, in a great though suppressed passion,
"pray, Mr. Bob