“You are a nice lover, aren’t you?” she began. “I have tried to be,” he replied evenly. “Well, you haven’t succeeded. My idea of a lover is a knight in armour who protects his fair lady, not you. You sit down and shut your eyes to what’s going on in front of your nose.” “I don’t understand, my dear. You had some secrets, and I did not like to intrude on them without your permission.” “No, and I suppose you’d wait for my permission before going for a man who tried to kiss me.” Eliphalet rose and compressed his lips. “No one would dare with the knowledge that we are engaged.” “Wouldn’t they, just! Well, they just have—at least one has, the vile brute!” “A member of this company kissed you against your will?” “Of course.” “Who?” “You’d do nothing if I told you.” “Who?” repeated Eliphalet, very white and calm. “Harrington May.” “Thank you. I shall know what to do, my dear. Your honour is quite safe with me; and mine—mine has been outraged.” He threw open the door and closed it crisply behind him, leaving Blanche looking a little scared. She had not counted on producing the quality of dull anger his face had worn, but thought rather he would fly into a boy’s rage—caress her with a savage intensity and curse the man who had sought to steal her favours. Then she would have told him that the whole thing was a joke, devised to buck him up and make him amusing. Afterwards, they would have gone out and had a jolly good beano. But somehow his looks did not give encouragement for such a recital, and, moreover, she felt a stirring of admiration for the manner in which he had strode to confront his rival. Eliphalet went straight to Harrington May’s room and entered uninvited. The leading-man was removing his make-up, and he looked up over the brim of a very dirty towel. “What d’you want?” he demanded. And Eliphalet answered coldly enough: “You are a blackguard—a low, thieving blackguard. A man to whom honour is a thing unknown.” “That’s very pretty,” said May. “Did you write it?” “You dared to kiss my future wife.” Harrington May rubbed his face thoughtfully. “Oh, and who would that be?” “I refer to Miss Cannon.” “Oh, ah! I see. And I’m supposed to have kissed her, am I?” “Do you deny having done so?” “Well, I must make quite sure before answering. There’s a note-book in the pocket of that jacket, if you’d pass it over.” But Eliphalet picked up a pair of gloves and flung them into the leading-man’s face. “Hey! Go easy! What’s that for?” “It is a challenge.” “A challenge, eh? To what?” “To a duel.” Harrington May threw back his head and laughed aloud, but for all that he scrutinised Eliphalet shrewdly from the corner of his eye. “As the challenged party, it is your right to choose the weapons.” “Ah, yes, so it is. I haven’t fought a duel for a week or two, so I’d forgotten. What do you say to crossbows?—or, if they don’t suit, I’m a pretty good hand with the lasso.” “The choice lies between pistols and swords.”