'Well,' said he, 'one word more, and I'll agree to bury the
subject. What did you fight about?'
'Oh, what do men ever fight about?' I cried.
'A lady?' said he.
I shrugged my shoulders.
'Deuce you did!' said he. 'I should scarce have thought it of
him.'
And at this my ill-humour broke fairly out in words. 'He!' I
cried. 'He never dared to address her--only to look at her and
vomit his vile insults! She may have given him sixpence: if she
did, it may take him to heaven yet!'
At this I became aware of his eyes set upon me with a considering
look, and brought up sharply.
'Well, well,' said he. 'Good night to you, Champdivers. Come to
me at breakfast-time to-morrow, and we'll talk of other subjects.'
I fully admit the man's conduct was not bad: in writing it down so
long after the events I can even see that it was good.
CHAPTER IV--ST. IVES GETS A BUNDLE OF BANK NOTES
I was surprised one morning, shortly after, to find myself the
object of marked consideration by a civilian and a stranger. This
was a man of the middle age; he had a face of a mulberry colour,
round black eyes, comical tufted eyebrows, and a protuberant
forehead; and was dressed in clothes of a Quakerish cut. In spite
of his plainness, he had that inscrutable air of a man well-to-do
in his affairs.
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