And here a thought crossed him—­one of the memorable little evanescent thoughts which sway us by our chance weakness; “Does she think me wanting in physical courage?”

Now, though the difference between them had been owing to a scornful remark that she had permitted herself to utter, on his refusal to accept a quarrel with one of her numerous satellites, his knowledge of her worship of brains, and his pride in his possession of the burdensome weight, had quite precluded his guessing that she might haply suppose him to be deficient in personal bravery.  He was astounded by the reflection that she had thus misjudged him.  It was distracting; sober-thoughted as he was by nature.  He watched the fair simplicity of her new manner with a jealous eye.  Her management of the two youths was exquisite; but to him, Edward, she had never condescended to show herself thus mediating and amiable.  Why?  Clearly, because she conceived that he had no virile fire in his composition.  Did the detestable little devil think silly duelling a display of valour?  Did the fair seraph think him anything less than a man?

How beautifully hung the yellow loop of her hair as she leaned over the board!  How gracious she was and like a Goddess with these boys, as he called them!  She rallied her partner, not letting him forget that he had the honour of being her partner; while she appeared envious of Algernon’s skill, and talked to both and got them upon common topics, and laughed, and was like a fair English flower of womanhood; nothing deadly.

“There, Algy; you have beaten us.  I don’t think I’ll have Lord Suckling for my partner any more,” she said, putting up her wand, and pouting.

“You don’t bear malice?” said Algernon, revived.

“There is my hand.  Now you must play a game alone with Lord Suckling, and beat him; mind you beat him, or it will redound to my discredit.”

With which, she and Edward left them.

“Algy was a little crestfallen, and no wonder,” she said.  “He is soon set up again.  They will be good friends now.”

“Isn’t it odd, that they should be ready to risk their lives for trifles?”

Thus Edward tempted her to discuss the subject which he had in his mind.

She felt intuitively the trap in his voice.

“Ah, yes,” she replied; “it must be because they know their lives are not precious.”

So utterly at her mercy had he fallen, that her pronunciation of that word “precious” carried a severe sting to him, and it was not spoken with peculiar emphasis; on the contrary, she wished to indicate that she was of his way of thinking, as regarded this decayed method of settling disputes.  He turned to leave her.

“You go to your Adeline, I presume,” she said.

“Ah! that reminds me.  I have never thanked you.”

“For my good services? such as they are.  Sir William will be very happy, and it was for him, a little more than for you, that I went out of my way to be a matchmaker.”