“For God’s sake,” I blurted irritably, “be like your countrymen in there:  be sneering, resentful, supercilious!  Don’t be so cursed amiable—­don’t make it so hard for me to do this!”

“I supercilious!  And to thee, lad!” he replied, with a reproachful smile.

“Show your inward self, then.  I know how selfish you are, how unscrupulous!  You like people for their good company, and their admiration of you, their attachment to you.  But you would trample over any one, without a qualm, to get at your own pleasure or enrichment, or to gratify your vanity.”

He meditated for a moment upon my words.  Then he said, good-naturedly: 

“Why, you hit me off to perfection, I think.  And yet, my liking for some people is real, too.  I would do much for those I like—­if it cost not too many pains, and required no sacrifice of pleasure.  For you, indeed, I would do a great deal, upon my honour!”

“Then do this,” quoth I, fighting against the ingratiating charm he exercised.  “Grant me a meeting—­swords or pistols, I don’t care which—­and the sooner the better.”

“But why?  At least I may know the cause.”

“The blight you have brought on those I love—­but that’s a cause must be kept secret between us.”

“Must I fight twice on the same score, then?”

“Why not?  You fared well enough the first time.  Tom fought on his family’s behalf.  I fight on behalf of my friend—­Captain Winwood.  Besides, haven’t I given you cause to-night, before your friends in there?  If I was in the wrong there, so much the greater my offence.  Come—­will you take up the quarrel as it is?  Or must I give new provocation?”

He sighed like a man who finds himself drawn into a business he would have considerately avoided.

“Well, well,” said he, “I can refuse you nothing.  We can manage the affair as we did the other, I fancy.  It must be a secret, of course—­even from my friends in there.  I shall tell them we have settled our difference, and let them imagine what they please to.  I’ll send some one to you—­that arrangement will give you the choice of weapons.”

“’Tis indifferent to me.”

“To me also.  But I prefer you should have that privilege.  I entreat you will choose the weapons you are best at.”

“Thank you.  I shall expect to hear from you, then.  Good-night!”

“Good-night!  ’Tis a foggy evening.  I wish you might come in and warm yourself with a glass before you go; but of course—­well, good-night!”

I went out into the damp darkness, thanking heaven the matter was settled beyond undoing; and marvelling that exceptional, favoured people should exist, who, thanks to some happy combination of superficial graces, remain irresistibly likable despite all exposure of the selfish vices they possess at heart.