ou."

"No!" he answered.

"Oh, well!--I'll tell you anyway."

I went up close to him. "What are you going to do about Peggy Darrol?"
I demanded.

The shot hit hard; but he was almost equal to it. He sat down on the
chest again and toyed once more with the point of the rapier. Then,
without looking up, he answered:

"Peggy Darrol,--eh, George! Peggy Darrol, did you say? Who the devil
is she? Oh,--ah,--eh,--oh, yes! the blacksmith's sister,--um,--nice
little wench, Peggy:--attractive, fresh, clinging, strawberries and
cream and all that sort of thing. Bit of a dreamer, though!"

"Who set her dreaming?" I asked, pushing my anger back.

"Hanged if I know; born in her I suppose. It is part of every woman's
make-up. Pretty little thing, though; by Gad! she is."

"Yes! she is pretty; and she was good as she is pretty until she got
tangled up with you."

Harry sprang up and menaced me.

"What do you mean, you,--you?---- What are you driving at? What's
your game?"

"Oh! give over this rotten hypocrisy," I shouted, pushing him back.
"Hit you on the raw, did it?"

He drew himself up.

"No! it didn't. But I have had more than enough of your impertinences.
I would box your ears for the unlicked pup you are, if I could do it
without soiling my palms."

I smiled.

"Those days are gone, Harry,--and you know it, too. Let us cut this
evasion and tom-foolery. You have got that poor girl into a scrape.
What are you going to do about getting her out of it?"

"_I_ have got her into trouble? How do you know _I_ have? Her word
for it, I suppose? A fine state of affairs it has come to, when any
girl who gets into trouble with her clod-hopper sweetheart, has simply
to accuse some one in a higher station than she, to have all her
troubles ended."

He flicked some dust from his coat-sleeve. "'Gad,--we fellows would
never be out of the soup."

"No! not her word," I retorted. "Little Peggy Darrol is not that sort
of girl and well you know it. I have your own word for it,--in
writing."

His face underwent a change in expression; his cheeks paled slightly.

I drew his letter from my pocket.

"Damn her for a little fool," he growled. He held out his hand for it.

"Oh, no! Harry,--I am keeping this meantime." And I replaced it.
"Tell me now,--what are you going to do about Peggy?" I asked
relentlessly.

"Oh!" he replied easily, "don't worry. I shall have her properly
looked after. She needn't fea