Digby's absence, in a train of reflections entirely new to him. He was the only son of his aged father and mother the protector of his sisters, and, he might say, the sole hope of a rising family; and then, possibly, Denbigh might not have meant to offend him—he might even have been engaged before they came to the house; or if not, it might have been inadvertence on the part of Miss Moseley. That Denbigh would offer some explanation he believed, and he had fully made up his mind to accept it, let it be what it might, as his fighting friend entered.
"Well," said Jarvis, in a tone that denoted anything but a consciousness that all was well.
"He says he will not meet you," dryly exclaimed his friend, throwing himself into a chair, and ordering a glass of brandy and water.
"Not meet me!" exclaimed Jarvis, in surprise. "Engaged, perhaps?"
"Engaged to his d—d conscience."
"To his conscience! I do not know whether I rightly understand you, Captain Digby," said Jarvis, catching his breath, and raising his voice a very little.
"Then, Captain Jarvis," said his friend, tossing off his brandy, and speaking with great deliberation, "he says that nothing—understand me—nothing will ever make him fight a duel."
"He will not!" cried Jarvis, in a loud voice.
"No, he will not," said Digby, handing his glass to the waiter for a fresh supply.
"He shall, by !"
"I don't know how you will make him."
"Make him! I'll—I'll post him."
"Never do that," said the captain, turning to him, as he leaned his elbows on the table. "It only makes both parties ridiculous. But I'll tell you what you may do. There's a Lord Chatterton who takes the matter up with warmth. If I were not afraid of his interests hurting my promotion, I should have resented something that fell from him myself. He will fight, I dare say, and I'll just return and require an explanation of his words on your behalf."
