“I shall be very brief. Maltravers, you are my old friend. I retain regard and affection for you, though our different habits have of late estranged us. I come to you from my cousin--from Florence--there has been some misunderstanding between you. I called on her to-day after you left the house. Her grief affected me. I have only just quitted her. She has been told by some gossip or other some story or other--women are credulous, foolish creatures;--undeceive her, and, I dare say, all may be settled.” “Ferrers, if a man had spoken to me as Lady Florence did, his blood or mine must have flowed. And do you think that words that might have plunged me into the guilt of homicide if uttered by a man, I could ever pardon in one whom I had dreamed of for a wife? Never!” “Pooh, pooh--women’s words are wind. Don’t throw away so splendid a match for such a trifle.” “Do you too, sir, mean to impute mercenary motives to me?” “Heaven forbid! You know I am no coward, but I really don’t want to fight you. Come, be reasonable.” “I dare say you mean well, but the breach is final--all recurrence to it is painful and superfluous. I must wish you good evening.” “You have positively decided?” “I have.” “Even if Lady Florence made the _amende honorable_?” “Nothing on the part of Lady Florence could alter my resolution. The woman whom an honourable man--an English gentleman--makes the partner of his life, ought never to listen to a syllable against his fair name: his honour is hers, and if her lips, that should breathe comfort in calumny, only serve to retail the lie--she may be beautiful, gifted, wealthy, and high-born, but he takes a curse to his arms. That curse I have escaped.” “And this I am to say to my cousin?” “As you will. And now stay, Lumley Ferrers, and hear me. I neither accuse nor suspect you, I desire not to pierce your heart, and in this case I cannot fathom your motives; but if it should so have happened that you have, in any way, ministered to Lady Florence Lascelles’ injurious opinions of my faith and honour, you will have much to answer for, and sooner or later there will come a day of reckoning between you and me.” “Mr. Maltravers, there can be no quarrel between us, with my cousin’s fair name at stake, or else we should not now part without preparations for a more hostile meeting. I can bear your language. _I_, too, though no philosopher, can forgive. Come, man, you are heated--it is very natural;--let us part friends--your hand.” “If you can take my hand, Lumley, you are innocent, and I have wronged you.” Lumley smiled, and cordially pressed the hand of his old friend. As he descended the stairs, Maltravers followed, and just as Lumley turned into Curzon Street, the carriage whirled rapidly past him, and by the lamps he saw the pale and stern face of Maltravers.