“Templemore?” repeated Sir John, tapping smooth forehead with slender finger. “Templemore? I have met him somewhere, I fancy. He is but lately come to Paris, I think, my lord?” “A week ago or thereabouts, m’ dear Sir John.” “And he desires a meeting?” “Most ardently, Sir John; the point in question being, as ya’ remember, of a distinctly—personal nature.” “Indeed,” nodded Sir John, “a brown Ramillie wig.” “Parfaitement!” answered Monsieur le Duc, with a flourish. “Precisely, Sir John!” answered Lord Cheevely. “’Twill be small-swords, I presume?” “No, my lord,” sighed Sir John. “Ah, you decide for pistols, then?” “Nor pistols, my lord. I do not intend to fight with Viscount Templemore.” “Not—not fight?” gasped his lordship, while Monsieur le Duc started and dropped his hat. “No, my lord,” answered Sir John. “I am returning Viscount Templemore’s wig with my sincerest regrets so soon as ’tis combed and ironed——” “D’ye mean, sir, that—that you actually refuse Viscount Templemore’s challenge?” “Actually and positively, my lord!” “But—but,” stammered Lord Cheevely. “Oh, demme, such action is impossible—was not—cannot be!” “That is why I do it, my lord.” “Oh, rat me!” murmured his lordship, goggling. “Oh, split me ... not fight! Dooce take and burn me—this from you, Sir John! You that ha’ never baulked ... had so many affairs ... gone out so frequently—oh, smite me dumb!” “My lord,” sighed Sir John, “I have been out so very frequently that I am grown a little weary. You will therefore pray tell Viscount Templemore that I have given up duelling as a pastime for the present, and purpose rusticating awhile——” “If—if you are serious, sir,” exclaimed Lord Cheevely, rolling his eyes, “demme, sir, if you are serious, permit me to tell ya’ ya’ conduct is dem’d strange, devilish queer and most dooced, dem’d irregular!” “Parfaitement!” added Monsieur le Duc. Sir John smiled faintly, though his dreamy blue eyes grew suddenly very keen and piercing. “Gentlemen,” he retorted, “I am about to leave Paris for an indefinite period; when I return, should you have any strictures to make upon my conduct, I shall be charmed to notice ’em. Until then, sirs, I have the honour to bid you adieu.” And so Sir John bowed, the gentlemen bowed and betook themselves away with never another word. “Man Jack,” exclaimed Sir Hector, as the door closed, “leave Parus, is it? O John, laddie—d’ye mean it?” “Aye, I do, Hector. What with one thing and another, I begin to find Paris a little wearing.” “Is it hame at last, Johnnie—hame tae England?” “Where else, Hector?” “When dae we start, lad?” “Sure, no time were better than the present. We ride to-day, Hector.” “Ou aye—yet bide a wee! Wha’ bee’s in y’r bonnet, now, laddie?” “I go to find my enemy, Hector.” “Save us a’! D’ye mean the leddy?” “Herminia!” nodded Sir John. “’Tis a pretty name! Indeed, Hector, ’tis a sweet, pretty name—though vastly difficult to find a rhyme for——”