Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Novelists -- Fiction; Secretaries -- Fiction; Voyages and travels -- Fiction; West Indies -- Fiction
Thinking that Edgerly might wish to "assist her" again I made haste to
offer her my arm; but she declined it with a faint smile, saying she had
no need of help. Her window was open and she left the balcony as she had
entered it, closing the glass doors after her.
"You were not very polite to me, a moment ago," said Edgerly, in clear,
cutting tones. "I thought it the part of a gentleman not to notice it
while the lady was present, but now I am obliged to express my opinion
of you; which is," he paused a moment, looking me squarely in the eye,
"that you are a cur!"
I grappled with him almost before the words were out of his mouth. We
went down together in a heap, his hand at my throat, mine at his. I
would have thrown him over the railing, or he would have thrown me, in
an instant more.
A voice interrupted us--the voice of Miss May, through her window.
"Mr. Camwell, will you kindly call a chambermaid," she said.
It was like the sudden appearance of a flag of truce in the midst of a
battle. Edgerly muttered something about seeing me at another time, and
released his hold. I did the same, remarking that I was at his service
whenever he pleased. We both rose. Edgerly entered the sitting room,
lifting his hat ironically as he vanished. I entered my own chamber,
reaching the hall in that way. Finding the woman, I sent her to Miss
May, telling her to knock at my door when she had executed the lady's
requests. Then I threw myself into a chair, and realized for the first
time how inadequate my weakened physical strength was to cope with a
well man like Edgerly.
Had not that voice separated us, I would now have been lying, either
dead or mangled, on the stone pavement, twelve feet below!
When I thought the matter over, I could see I had been in the wrong. The
fellow had done nothing that deserved my abuse, in the first place, and
the epithet he had hurled at me was in a measure justified by my
conduct. It was now too late, however, to consider the origin of the
quarrel. Blows had been exchanged, threats had been passed, we had
agreed to settle the matter later. It was not in my disposition to crave
the pardon of a man under those circumstances. If he carried out his
evident purpose of trying to trash me, I would have to meet him. The
fact that I was still in effect an invalid--that I was not in condition
for such a game--was no excuse, nor did I intend to avail myself of it.
I felt pretty certain that, within a given number of hours, I would be
very lucky if I knew myself in the glass.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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