Henry's seconds were all for retiring, but he'd have none of it, and bids them go to and choose the ground. At last all was prepared, and the two stripped off their coats and vests. Everyone was becomingly sober now, and, indeed, mighty anxious for young Jettan, who is the smaller of the two, and Henry looking murder as he was. Henry fought devilish hard, and, indeed, is a cunning fencer, as you no doubt apprehend, but young Jettan was like a bit of quicksilver, in and out with his sword most finicky and dainty. Soon we saw that Henry was no match for him at all, and, indeed, could have been run through the body a score of times, Jettan playing with him very pretty to see, but I was sore distressed to see Henry so put to it. He gave Jettan but the faintest scratch, and before we knew what was to do, there was Henry reeling back and his sword on the ground. At which Jettan bows very polite, and but a mite out of breath, and picks up the sword and hands it to Henry. Henry was for continuing, and a brave lad he is, but the seconds would have none of it, and 'twas all over. "I trust you are satisfied, sir?" says Jettan. "Satisfied be damned!" pants Henry, clutching at his shoulder. "Of the other matter between us," says Jettan, "I can only counsel you to remember, for I meant what I said." Then he walks off and we rode away.'" Bancroft stopped. "I saw the joke was against me. What do ye think of that, Sir Maurice?" Sir Maurice drew a deep breath. "My God, I would I had been there!" he said fervently. "Ay, 'twould have been a fine sight, I vow! But did ye ever hear the like of it? Philip and the petticoats, eh? These lads, Sir Maurice! These lads! Satterthwaite says he writes madrigals and what-not to the ladies' eyelashes!" Bancroft went off into a long chuckle. "And so ruffled my young hot-head, who had always a way with the petticoats!" Cleone rose and walked to the window. She opened it, cooling her hot cheeks. And there she stayed, seated on the low couch that ran under the window, until Bancroft finally took his departure. When Sir Maurice returned from seeing his guest out of the house, he found her pale again, and very stiff. "Ahem!" said Sir Maurice. Then, brusquely: "Pack o' lies!" "Do you think so?" said Cleone hopefully. "Of course I do! The boy is but doing what I told him to do--acquiring polish and _savoir faire_ with your sex, my dear." Cleone sprang up. "You told him to--oh, how could you, sir?" "My dear, it's less than nothing, I dare swear. But Philip worsting Bancroft like that! Philip the pet of Society! Gad, I never hoped for this!" "Nor I," said Cleone bitterly. "And--and 'tis my own--f-fault--for--s-sending him away--s-so c-cruelly, but--but--oh, how _dare_ he?" Sir Maurice was silent. "He--he--I thought he--" she broke off, biting her lip. After a slight pause she spoke again, with would-be lightness. "I--do you know, I think I shall go to my aunt after all?" "Will you, my dear?" said Sir Maurice.