"No, no, Carnaby," protested the beautiful one in question, with a look at Peckover which gave unmistakable point to her words, "how absurd you are." "Compromise my precious sister, you slink!" "No, no," Peckover objected, getting quite reckless between the two fires; "not your precious sister. How absurd you are!" Next instant the giant had sprung at him and had him in his grip. "Absurd? Am I? I'll wring your neck!" "I mean settle," Peckover explained in a shriek. "I'll settle you," was the retort, emphasized by a tightening grip. "I mean settle with money," gasped the tortured one, hoping the magic word might have a relaxing effect upon the stricture. But whatever might have been its effect upon his tormentor's mind when unclouded by alcohol, it had now the reverse of the desired result. "Money!" he cried in maudlin indignation as he threw him off, "what is money where the honour of my lovely Lalage is concerned?" Peckover had come to the inevitable conclusion that it would be worth his while to make some pecuniary sacrifice in order to get out of the difficulty. He would do well to jettison part of the cargo of his ship which had seemed to be coming home so nicely. "You see," he explained, "much as my friend Quorn may admire your sister, he will be bound to marry a rich girl to support his title." "A peer wants a lot of keeping up, I suppose," growled Mr. Leo, taking out another bottle from the cabinet and shaking it viciously, demonstrating by his action that a bush-bully requires a certain amount of keeping-up as well. "It stands to reason," Peckover replied. "Now," he added insinuatingly, "if a hundred pounds----" The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he was sorry he had uttered them. There was an explosion, a smash, and the little table with its contents was lying on the floor broken by a thump from the mighty fist. "Hundred devils!" Mr. Leo roared. CHAPTER XVII So far as he dared, Peckover began to lose his temper. "I wish you would not smash things," he ventured to remonstrate. "I'll take your word for your muscle." "My muscle prefers to speak for itself," was the retort. "It need not talk with such a deuced lot of emphasis," Peckover rejoined. "What do you say," he added, returning to business, "to two hundred pounds?" "Don't you wish I may take it?" exclaimed the fair Lalage with infinite scorn. "You can't expect any more," Peckover urged. "Lord Quorn is a very poor man." "Is he?" Lalage asked, becoming thoughtful. "Certainly he is. Really not worth looking after. Now," he added, coaxingly. "Can't you put a fair price on your journey?" "What price my glorious sister's broken heart?" bellowed Mr. Leo, truculently maudlin. "Damaged goods half price," was Peckover's inaudible reply.