Mr. Thomasson had much ado to mask his chagrin under a show of

contemptuous incredulity. 'The wench has too fine a conceit of herself!'

he blurted out. 'Hark you, sir--this is a fable! I wonder you dare to

put it about. A gentleman of the station of my lord Dunborough's son

does not condescend to the gutter!' 'I will convey the remark to my client,' said the attorney, bristling

all over.

'Client!' Mr. Thomasson retorted, trembling with rage--for he saw the

advantage he had given the enemy. 'Since when had laundry maids lawyers?

Client! Pho! Begone, sir! You are abusive. I'll have you looked up on

the rolls. I'll have your name taken!' 'I would not talk of names if I were you,' cried Mr. Fishwick, reddening

in his turn with rage. 'Men give a name to what you are doing this

morning, and it is not a pleasant one. It is to be hoped, sir, that Mr.

Dunborough pays you well for your services!'

'You--insolent rascal!' the tutor stammered, losing in a moment all his

dignity and becoming a pale flabby man, with the spite and the terror of

crime in his face. 'You--begone! Begone, sir.'

'Willingly,' said the attorney, swelling with defiance. 'You may tell

your principal that when he means marriage, he may come to us. Not

before. I take my leave, sir. Good morning.' And with that he strutted

out and marched slowly and majestically down the stairs.

He bore off the honours of war. Mr. Thomasson, left among his Titian

copies, his gleaming Venuses, and velvet curtains, was a sorry thing.

The man who preserves a cloak of outward decency has always this

vulnerable spot; strip him, and he sees himself as others see or may see

him, and views his ugliness with griping qualms. Mr. Thomasson bore the

exposure awhile, sitting white and shaking in a chair, seeing himself

and seeing the end, and, like the devils, believing and trembling. Then

he rose and staggered to a little cupboard, the door of which was

adorned with a pretty Greek motto, and a hovering Cupid painted in a

blue sky; whence he filled himself a glass of cordial. A second glass

followed; this restored the colour to his cheeks and the brightness to

his eyes. He shivered; then smacked his lips and began to reflect what

face he should put upon it when he went to report to his pupil.

In deciding that point he made a mistake. Unluckily for himself and

others, in the version which he chose he was careful to include all

matters likely to arouse Dunborough's resentment; in particular he laid

malicious stress upon the attorney's scornful words about a marriage.

This, however--and perhaps the care he took to repeat it--had an

unlooked-for result. Mr. Dunborough began by cursing the rogue's

impudence, and did it with all the heat his best friend could desire.

But, being confined to his room, haunted by the vision of his flame, yet

debarred from any attempt to see her, his mood presently changed; his

heart became as water, and he fell into a maudlin state about her.

Dwelling constantly on memories of his Briseis--whose name, by the way,

was Julia--having her shape and complexion, her gentle touch and her

smile, always in his mind, while he was unable in the body to see so

much as the hem of her gown, Achilles grew weaker in will as he grew

stronger in body. Headstrong and reckless by nature, unaccustomed to

thwart a desire or deny himself a gratification, Mr. Dunborough began to

contemplate paying even the last price for her; and one day, about three

weeks after the duel, dropped a word which frightened Mr. Thomasson.




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