Harry sprang up and menaced me. "What do you mean, you,--you?---- What are you driving at? What's your game?" "Oh! give over this rotten hypocrisy," I shouted, pushing him back. "Hit you on the raw, did it?" He drew himself up. "No! it didn't. But I have had more than enough of your impertinences. I would box your ears for the unlicked pup you are, if I could do it without soiling my palms." I smiled. "Those days are gone, Harry,--and you know it, too. Let us cut this evasion and tom-foolery. You have got that poor girl into a scrape. What are you going to do about getting her out of it?" "_I_ have got her into trouble? How do you know _I_ have? Her word for it, I suppose? A fine state of affairs it has come to, when any girl who gets into trouble with her clod-hopper sweetheart, has simply to accuse some one in a higher station than she, to have all her troubles ended." He flicked some dust from his coat-sleeve. "'Gad,--we fellows would never be out of the soup." "No! not her word," I retorted. "Little Peggy Darrol is not that sort of girl and well you know it. I have your own word for it,--in writing." His face underwent a change in expression; his cheeks paled slightly. I drew his letter from my pocket. "Damn her for a little fool," he growled. He held out his hand for it. "Oh, no! Harry,--I am keeping this meantime." And I replaced it. "Tell me now,--what are you going to do about Peggy?" I asked relentlessly. "Oh!" he replied easily, "don't worry. I shall have her properly looked after. She needn't fear. Probably I shall make a settlement on her; although the little idiot hardly deserves that much after giving the show away as she has done." "Of course, you will tell Lady Rosemary of this before any announcement is made of your marriage, Harry? A Brammerton must, in all things, be honourable, 'Clean,--within and without.'" He looked at me incredulously, and smiled almost in pity for me and my strange ideas. "Certainly not! What do you take me for? What do you think Lady Rosemary is that I should trouble her with these petty matters?" "Petty matters," I cried. "You call this petty? God forgive you, Harry. Petty! and that poor girl crying her heart out; her whole innocent life blasted; her future a disgrace! Petty!--my God!;--and you a Brammerton! "But I tell you," I blazed, "you shall let Lady Rosemary know." "And I tell you,--I shall not," he replied. "Then, by God!--I'll do it myself," I retorted. "I give you two hours to decide which of us it is to be." I made toward the door. But Harry sprang for his rapier, picked it up and stood with his back against my exit, the point of his weapon to my breast. There was a wicked gleam in his narrow eyes. "Damn you! George Brammerton, for a sneaking, prying, tale-bearing lout;--you dare not do it!" He took a step forward. "Now, sir,--I will trouble you for that letter."