Eliphalet thanked him for his praises, paid for fifty cartridges, and after carefully cleaning the two weapons, bade him good afternoon. He took his meal at a chop-house, and ate but sparingly. When he had finished, he called for paper and an envelope, and wrote a farewell letter to Blanche, to be delivered should misadventure overtake him. It was rather a grandiose composition, in which the word “honour” recurred with some frequency. He placed it in his pocket, paid the bill, and walked to the theatre. The news of the challenge had spread like wildfire—even the stage hands and cleaners were in possession of every detail. Wherever he went he was followed by curious glances, and often after he had passed explosive but suppressed giggles would break out. It was clear the company was treating the affair as a joke. Personally, he could see very small provocation for laughter, but reflecting that with trivial minds mirth and calamity are close companions, he made no comment. He wondered whether Harrington May would laugh next morning. Eliphalet had quite made up his mind not to kill his antagonist, but to place a bullet in his thigh, trusting this would prove sufficient punishment to meet with the requirements. He wished almost that the cause of their quarrel had been a woman of finer fibre, but that could not be helped, and the insult to his pride was the same in any case. The business of the play proceeded on even lines. A private affair could not be allowed to interfere with a public duty; but once or twice he stumbled with his words and missed a cue. Harrington May observed this, was delighted, and noisily declared in the greenroom, during one of his waits, that “Mother’s Boy” was in such alarm that he couldn’t “talk straight.” The wagonette had been ordered, and towards the end of the play had drawn up in a side street to wait the coming of the revellers. Nearly everyone had brought with them a warm coat or wrap, that the elements might not interfere with their perfect enjoyment. When the curtain fell on the last act, Eliphalet carefully dressed himself, and was on the point of leaving his room, when Blanche came in. “You are a little fool, aren’t you?” she said. It is discouraging for a man about to risk his life for a lady’s sake to be addressed in such terms. It was a time for guerdons and not rebukes. “In what manner am I a fool, Blanche?” “Challenging May to a duel, like that. Everyone knows about it, and is laughing about it, too. Now, I suppose you are going to walk home as if nothing has happened. A nice idiot it’ll make me look, and you’ll be the laughing-stock of the theatre for ever.” “I do not understand you.” “Why couldn’t you punch his head, like a man, and leave it at that?” “I do not consider to do so would be punishment enough.” “Better than all this silly talking.” “There has been very little talking; indeed, I ought not to be talking now. There is not much time before the—the—appointment.”