Mr. Waddy echoed the exclamation; he shared in all Peter’s disgust, and all his anxiety. “It’s lucky,” continued Peter, “he can’t come out to-day. Everyone’s inquiring about the row, and Sir Comeguys says he will only keep still until the fellow is out of bed and able to speak for himself.” “Well,” said Waddy, as Peter paused again, “what’s to be done? Is that all the scoundrel said?” “Not by a blamed sight; but it’s so damned unpleasant I hate to repeat it. After refusing your offer, he repeated his threat of exposing Mrs. B., and he gave me details. He said he wanted to see her, and if he sent a waiter, she would have to come. I knew that would never do, so I bullied him a little and said I would see her myself. By Jove! think what a box I was getting into. Mrs. B. is cool; perhaps I may as well put it, brassy. She was complimentary enough to say that she was surprised a man of my experience should listen to the idle talk of a man bruised and angry; that possibly Arabella (blinking entirely the question, as touching herself--I had stated his threat as delicately as I could) had given him so much encouragement as to persuade him he had rights. Very probably, for she herself had hoped that he and Arabella would make a match, and still hoped it. As to the slanders of that young brute of an Englishman, they were pure jealousy. She was satisfied of De Châteaunéant’s position, and thought his abuser a vile coward for profiting by his personal strength to put a rival out of the way. She would talk over the matter with Arabella and see me in an hour.” “Yes?” said Waddy encouragingly, as Peter paused again, choked with rage. He rather wondered at Peter’s emotion, for that gentleman usually held himself well in hand--but then this was an extraordinary case. “Well,” continued Peter, “in an hour, I happened to pass through the corridor. Arabella, cried to a perfect jelly, was just opening the door for her mother. How the harridan must have been bullying that poor girl! And yet she was as cool, and smiling, and handsome, as if she was coming out of St. Aspasia’s after her Sunday afternoon nap. She said she had found a little proper ladylike hesitation on the part of Miss Arabella; that young ladies did not like this courting by proxy; and that she had no doubt that when De Châteaunéant was able to plead his own cause, that her daughter’s long-existing inclination for him would develop immediately into the desirable degree of affection. By Jove! I couldn’t help admiring the woman as she stood and told me all this, perfectly self-possessed, though she knew I believed it was every word a lie. Then she said that, as I was quite the confidential friend of the family, she would ask me to go with her to M. De Châteaunéant. And I went! What do you think of that, Waddy?” “I don’t know what to think,” answered Ira. “And yet it was probably the best thing to do.”