But, as for my lord, he stared like one petrified. All his assurance was knocked out of him. He looked--goggle-eyed and gasping like a landed fish--from his adversary to the lady, and from the lady to Hamilton, and again from them both to the rapidly receding couple. It seemed minutes before he could find his voice. “But--but----” he said, and stuck again. “Very well, sir,” said Hamilton. “Take your guard.” But the other, with a muttered oath, slipped his blade into its scabbard. “I’m damned if I do!” he said, and looked stupidly at the lady. “You called him Kit, you know,” he muttered. “And why not?” she said. “Is he to be killed for being christened?” “You may realize by now, sir,” said Hamilton, “that you have made an error. If I may suggest, the way to rectify it is by not imposing yourself longer on our company.” The glare came again into Chesterfield’s eyes; and then doubt, confusion, indecision. Was this, in truth, his errant wife? He had never questioned it before; but now--was there not something seeming more familiar in the pose, the walk of the other? And yet---- He bent, bewildered, to search the secret of the impenetrable mask. Certainly the dim light, the artificial atmosphere, were trickish things; they confused the visual sense, no less than that of voice and hearing. Was he mistaken after all? And what was his folly, in that case, in bandying words with these while the actual delinquents escaped! One moment longer he hesitated; then, with a curse, turned on his heel and hurried off in pursuit. The two remaining watched his retreat in silence; and then Hamilton, resheathing his sword with a snap, gave a low laugh. “Nothing, my Phil,” muttered he, “will make thee a gentleman”; and he turned on his companion. She stood quite still, observing him. “What made you call me Kit?” said he. “Why, are you not Kit?” she asked.