Mr. Lot stiffened at the remark. His blue eyes seemed to grow more prominent, as though the cold steadiness of Jeffray’s manner had put him suddenly on the alert. “You will have to come and comfort Jill,” he said, staring hard at Richard, as though to watch for any betrayal of rebellion. “Certainly, Lot, as soon as she will see me.” “She had it of you, you know, cousin; you will have to make it up to her for a damaged complexion.” Richard shuddered at the coarse suggestiveness of Lot’s words. There was something in his cousin’s manner that made him see of a sudden how cunningly the Lady Letitia had forecasted the future. Jilian’s comeliness had suffered, and the Hardacres were prepared to hold him like a culprit to his oath. “I can promise you, cousin,” he said, bluntly, “that I shall not fail in doing my duty.” There was an unconscious tinge of irony in the retort that penetrated Mr. Hardacre’s skin. He reddened a little, thrust out his lower lip, and looked at Jeffray with sinister shrewdness. “Duty, sir; that is a damned poor word for a lover to use!” Jeffray flushed. “I meant it in the honorable sense, Lot,” he said, more kindly. “Egad, sir, I should hope so,” quoth the fire-eater, thrusting his chin forward over his cravat. “You gave my sister the small-pox, sir, and if you are anything of a fellow you will behave decently to her and not from any confounded sense of duty. I am right there, Richard, I reckon.” Jeffray, feeling humiliated, shackled, yet inwardly rebellious, looked his cousin full in the face, and gave him his answer frankly and with some heat. “I am a gentleman, Lot, and therefore you may spare your hectoring.” “Deuce take you, sir; I suppose I may feel for my sister, eh?” The two men were eying each other like dogs half inclined to fight. “At present, sir,” quoth Jeffray, reddening and throwing back his head, “your sister’s honor is in my keeping.” Lot Hardacre stared at him in silence for a moment. He was wondering how Jeffray had come by so much spirit as to stand up to a man who had always bustled him. “Well, that’s spoken like a man,” he confessed. “Jilian and I are betrothed, are we not?” “By gad, you are.” “Then, sir, I am not conscious of having given you any excuse as yet to question my honor.” XXVII