CHAPTER XV.

SATISFACTION.

SIR ABRAHAM TAMWORTH, G.C.B.—­a fine old Admiral of the White, who somewhat looked down upon the rank of General, H.E.I.C.S.—­was astonished, as well he might be, at Mr. Saunders, and his message:  and, of course, most gladly acquiesced in acting as poor Emily’s protector.  Accordingly, however jealous Lady Tamworth and her daughters might heretofore have felt of that bright beauty at the balls, they were now all genuine sympathy, indignation, and affection.  Emily, I need hardly say, went straight up stairs to have her cry out.

“Whom are you writing to, George, in such a hurry?” asked the admiral, of a fine moustachioed son, George St. Vincent Tamworth, of the Royal Horse Guards, who had just got six months’ leave of absence for the sake of marriage with his cousin.

The gallant soldier tossed a billet to his father, who mounted his spectacles, and quietly read it at the lamp.

“Captain Tamworth desires Mr. Julian Tracy’s company to-morrow morning, at seven o’clock, in the third meadow on the Oxton road.  The captain brings a friend with him; also pistols and a surgeon; and he desires Mr. Tracy to do the like:  Prospect House, Thursday evening.”

“So, George, you consider him a gentleman, do you?  I am afraid it’s a poor compliment to our fair young friend.”  And he quietly crumpled up the challenge in his iron hand.

“Really, sir!—­you surprise me;—­pardon me, but I will send that note:  mustn’t I chastise the fellow for this insufferable outrage?”

“No doubt, George, no doubt of it at all:  when a lady is insulted, and a man (not to say a queen’s officer) stands by without taking notice of it, he deserves whipping at the cart’s-tail, and Coventry for life.  I’ve no patience, boy, with such mean meekness, as putting up with bullying insolence when a woman’s in the case.  Let a man show moral courage, if he can and will, in his own affront; I honour him who turns on his heel from common personal insult, and only wish my own old blood was cool enough to do so:  but the mother, wife, and sister, ay, George, and the poor defenceless one, be she lady, peasant, or menial, who comes to us for safety in a woman’s dress, we must take up their quarrel, or we are not men!—­”

“Don’t interrupt him, George,” uxoriously suggested Lady Tamworth, “your father hasn’t done talking yet.”  For George was getting terribly impatient; he knew, from sad experience, how much the admiral was given to prosing.  However, the oration soon proceeded to our captain’s entire satisfaction, after his progenitor had paused awhile for breath’s sake in his eloquence.