‘I have heard of George Eliot,’ hinted Dalley. ‘An old hen, that imagined it could crow!’ said the poet, with intense malignity. ‘She’ll be forgotten as though she never existed, in a little while; and as for that Vaughan woman, she’s several grades lower still, and ought only to be employed for the _London Journal_!’ Granton looked at him, and bit his lips to hide a smile. ‘It strikes me you’d rather like to stand in Lady Carlyon’s shoes, all the same, Mr Grovelyn,’ he said. Grovelyn laughed, with such a shrill sound in the laughter, that Dr Dalley immediately made a mental note entitled ‘Splenetic Hysteria,’ and watched him with professional eagerness. ‘Not I,’ he exclaimed. ‘Everybody knows her husband writes more than half her books!’ ‘That’s a lie!’ said a full, clear voice behind them. ‘Her husband is as big an ass as you are!’ Grovelyn turned round fiercely, and confronted Paul Valdis. There was a silence of surprise and consternation. Several men rose from various parts of the room, and came to see what was going on. Dr Dalley rubbed his hands in delightful anticipation of a ‘row,’ but no one spoke or moved to interfere. The two men, Grovelyn and Valdis, stood face to face; the one mean-featured, with every movement of his body marked by a false and repulsive affectation, the other a manly and heroic figure distinguished by good looks and grace of bearing, with the consciousness of right and justice flashing in his eyes. ‘You accuse me of telling a lie, Mr Valdis,’ hissed Grovelyn, ‘and you call me an ass!’ ‘I do,’ retorted Valdis, coolly. ‘It is certainly a lie that Lord Carlyon writes half his wife’s books. I had a letter from him once, and found out by it that he didn’t known how to spell, much less express himself grammatically. And of course you are an ass if you think he could do anything in the way of literature; but you don’t think so—you only say so out of pure jealousy of a woman’s fame!’ ‘You shall answer for this, Mr Valdis!’ exclaimed Grovelyn, the curls of his door-mat coiffure bristling with rage. ‘By Heaven, you shall answer for it!’ ‘When you please, and how you please,’ returned Valdis, composedly; ‘Now and here, if you like, and if the members permit fighting on the club premises.’ Exclamations of ‘No, no!’ mingled with laughter, partially drowned his voice. Everyone at the ‘Bohemian’ knew and dreaded Valdis; he was the most influential person on the committee, and the most dangerous if offended.