Sir Terence steadied himself. He recovered his truculence. “Irrevocable or not, it will just have to be revocable. The meeting’s impossible.” “I do not see the impossibility. I am not surprised you should shelter yourself behind an enactment; but you will remember this enactment does not apply to me, who am not a soldier.” “But it applies to me, who am not only a soldier, but the Adjutant-General here, the man chiefly responsible for seeing the order carried out. It would be a fine thing if I were the first to disregard it.” “I am afraid it is too late. You have disregarded it already, sir.” “How so?” “The letter of the law is against sending or receiving a challenge, I think.” O’Moy was distracted. “Samoval,” he said, drawing himself up, “I will admit that I have been a fool. I will apologise to you for the blow and for the word that accompanied it.” “The apology would imply that my statement was a true one and that you recognised it. If you mean that--” “I mean nothing of the kind. Damme! I’ve a mind to horsewhip you, and leave it at that. D’ ye think I want to face a firing party on your account?” “I don’t think there is the remotest likelihood of any such contingency,” replied Samoval. But O’Moy went headlong on. “And another thing. Where will I be finding a friend to meet your friends? Who will dare to act for me in view of that enactment?” The Count considered. He was grave now. “Of course that is a difficulty,” he admitted, as if he perceived it now for the first time. “Under the circumstances, Sir Terence, and entirely to accommodate you, I might consent to dispense with seconds.” “Dispense with seconds?” Sir Terence was horrified at the suggestion. “You know that that is irregular--that a charge of murder would lie against the survivor.” “Oh, quite so. But it is for your own convenience that I suggest it, though I appreciate your considerate concern on the score of what may happen to me afterwards should it come to be known that I was your opponent.” “Afterwards? After what?” “After I have killed you.” “And is it like that?” cried O’Moy, his countenance inflaming again, his mind casting all prudence to the winds. It followed, of course, that without further thought for anything but the satisfaction of his rage Sir Terence became as wax in the hands of Samoval’s desires. “Where do you suggest that we meet?” he asked. “There is my place at Bispo. We should be private in the gardens there. As for time, the sooner the better, though for secrecy’s sake we had better meet at night. Shall we say at midnight?” But Sir Terence would agree to none of this. “To-night is out of the question for me. I have an engagement that will keep me until late. To-morrow night, if you will, I shall be at your service.” And because he did not trust Samoval he added, as Samoval himself had almost reckoned: “But I should prefer not to come to Bispo. I might be seen going or returning.”