s eloquence; now, the
pleasure with which the Colonel would meet Payton again; now, the lucky
chance that found a pair of new foils on the window ledge among the
fishing-tackle, the old fowling-pieces, and the ragged copies of
_Armida_ and _The Don_.

"For he's ruined entirely and no one to play with him!" Asgill
continued, a twinkle, which he made no attempt to hide, in his eye. "No
one, I'm meaning, Major, of his sort of force at all! Begad, boys,
you'll see some fine fencing for once! Ye'll think ye've never seen any
before I'm doubting!"

"I'm not sure that I can remain to-morrow," Payton said in a surly
tone. For he began to suspect that Asgill was quizzing him. He noticed
that every time the Justice named Colonel Sullivan, whether he referred
to his return, or exalted his prowess, a sensation, a something that
was almost a physical stir passed round the table. Men looked furtively
at one another, or looked straight before them, as if they were in a
design. If that were so, the design could only be to pit Colonel
Sullivan against him, or in some way to provoke a quarrel between them.
He felt a qualm of distrust and apprehension, for he remembered the
words the Colonel had used in reference to their next meeting; and he
was confirmed in the plan he had already formed--to be gone next day.
But in the meantime his temper moved him to carry the war into the
enemy's country.

"I didn't know," he snarled, taking Asgill up in the middle of a eulogy
of Colonel John's skill, "that he was so great a favourite of yours."

"He was not," Asgill replied drily.

"He is now, it seems!" in the same sneering tone.

"We know him better. Don't we, boys?"

They murmured assent.

"And the lady whose horse I sheltered for you," the Major continued,
spitefully watching for an opening--"confound you, little you thanked
me for it!--she must be still more in his interest than you. And how
does that suit your book?"

Asgill had great self-control, and the Major was not, except where his
malice was roused, a close observer. But the thrust was so unexpected
that on the instant Payton read the other's secret in his eyes--knew
that he loved, and knew that he was jealous. Jealous of Sullivan!
Jealous of the man whom he was for some reason praising. Then why not
jealous of a younger, a more proper, a more fashionable rival? Asgill's
cunningly reared plans began to sink, and even while he answered he
knew it.

"She likes him," he said,