sion 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.

He was well enough by this time to be up, and was looking through one
window while the tutor lounged in the seat of another. On a sudden
'Lord!' said he, with a laugh that broke off short in the middle. 'What
was the queer catch that fellow sang last night? About a bailiff's
daughter. Well, why not a porter's daughter?'

'Because you are neither young enough, nor old enough, nor mad enough!'
said Mr. Thomasson cynically, supposing the other meant nothing.

'It is she that would be mad,' the young gentleman answered, with a grim
chuckle. 'I should take it out of her sooner or later. And, after all,
she is as good as Lady Macclesfield or Lady Falmouth! As good? She is
better, the saucy baggage! By the Lord, I have a good mind to do it!'

Mr. Thomasson sat dumbfounded. At length, 'You are jesting! You cannot
mean it,' he said.

'If it is marriage or nothing--and, hang her, she is as cold as a church
pillar--I do mean it,' the gentleman answered viciously; 'and so would
you if you were not an old insensible sinner! Think of her ankle, man!
Think of her waist! I never saw a waist to compare with it! Even in the
Havanna! She is a pearl! She is a jewel! She is incomparable!'

'And a porter's daughter!'

'Faugh, I don't believe it.' And he took his oath on the point.

'You mak