ne.

The ladies drove away in the afternoon. The earl turned his back on
manuscript. He sent for a couple of walking sticks, and commanded
Weyburn to go through his parades. He was no tyro, merely out of
practice, and unacquainted with the later, simpler form of the great
master of the French school, by which, at serious issues, the guarding
of the line can be more quickly done: as, for instance, the 'parade
de septime' supplanting the slower 'parade de prime;' the 'parade de
quarte' having advantage over the 'parade de quince;' the 'parade de
tierce' being readier and stronger than the 'parade de sixte;' the same
said for the 'parade de seconde' instead of the weak 'parade d'octave.'

These were then new points of instruction. Weyburn demonstrated them as
neatly as he could do with his weapon.

'Yes, the French think,' Lord Ormont said, grasping the stick to get
conviction of thumb-strength and finger-strength from the parades
advocated; 'their steel would thread the ribs of our louts before:
they could raise a cry of parry; so here they 're pleased to sneer
at fencing, as if it served no purpose but the duel. Fencing, for one
thing, means, that with a good stick in his hand, a clever fencer can
double up a giant or two, grant him choice of ground. Some of our men
box; but the sword's the weapon for an officer, and precious few of 'em
are fit for more than to kick the scabbard. Slashing comes easier to
them: a plaguey cut, if it does cut--say, one in six. Navy too. Their
cutlass-drill is like a woman's fling of the arm to fetch a slap from
behind her shoulder. Pinking beats chopping. These English 'll have
their lesson. It 's like what you call good writing: the simple way does
the business, and that's the most difficult to learn, because you must
give your head to it, as those French fellows do. 'Trop de finesse' is
rather their fault. Anything's better than loutishness. Well! the lesson
'll come.'

He continued. He spoke as he thought: he was not speaking what he was
thinking. His mind was directed on the visit of Aminta to Lady de Culme,
and the tolerably wonderful twist whereby Mrs. Lawrence Finchley had
vowed herself to his girl's interests. And he blamed neither of them;
only he could not understand how it had been effected, for Aminta and
Mrs. Lawrence had not been on such particularly intimate terms last
week or yesterday. His ejaculation, 'Women!' was, as he knew, merely
ignorance roaring behind a mask of