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Miss Paradise said in an urgent undervoice: ‘Oh, please don’t! He can’t fight you! He is only a boy, Sir Roland!’
Mr Morley, who was plainly enjoying himself at last, shut the door upon Miss Paradise, and demanded to know whether Sir Roland preferred swords or pistols. When Sir Roland unhesitatingly chose swords he bowed, and said that he believed there was a garden behind the inn which would serve their purpose.
He was right; there was a garden, with a small shrubbery screening part of it from the house. Sir Roland followed Mr Morley there and took off his coat and tossed it on to a wooden seat. ‘This is damned irregular, you know,’ he remarked, sitting down on the bench to pull off his boots. ‘Are you very set on fighting me?’
‘Yes, I am,’ declared Mr Morley, removing his sword-belt. ‘A pretty fellow I should be if I gave Bab – Miss Paradise – up to you for the mere asking!’
Sir Roland drew his sword from its sheath and bent the slender blade between his hands. ‘You would be a still prettier fellow if you carried her off to Gretna,’ he said dryly.
Mr Morley coloured. ‘Well, I never wanted to elope,’ he said defensively. ‘It was all your doing that we were forced to!’
Sir Roland got up from the bench in his leisurely way, and stood waiting with his sword-point lightly resting on the ground. Mr Morley rolled up his sleeves, picked up his weapon, and announced that he was ready.
He had, of course, been taught to fence, and was by no means a dull pupil; but within ten seconds of engaging he was brought to a realization of the vast difference that lay between a friendly bout with foils and a duel with naked blades. He tried to remember all he had been taught, but the pace Sir Roland set was alarmingly swift, and made him feel singularly helpless and clumsy. It was all he could do to parry that flickering sword-point; several times he knew he had been too slow, and almost shut his eyes in the expectation of being run through. But, somehow, he always did seem to succeed in parrying the fatal lunge just in time, and once he managed to press Sir Roland hard with an attack in a high line. He was very soon dripping with sweat and quite out of breath, fighting gamely but with thudding pulses, and with a paralysing sensation of being pretty much at his opponent’s mercy. And then, just as he had miraculously parried thrust in seconde, Sir Roland executed a totally unexpected volte, and the next instant Mr Morley’s sword was torn from his grasp and he had flung up his hands instinctively to guard his face.
‘Mr Morley,’ said Sir Roland, breathing a little fast, ‘do you acknowledge yourself worsted?’
Mr Morley, sobbing for breath, could only nod.
‘Then let us rejoin Miss Paradise,’ said Sir Roland, giving him back his sword.
He moved towards the bench and began to pull on his boots again. Mr Morley presently followed his example, crestfallen and very much out of countenance.
‘I suppose,’ said Mr Morley disconsolately, ‘you could have killed me if you had chosen?’
‘Yes, certainly I could; but then, you see, I am a very good swordsman,’ said Sir Roland, smiling. ‘Don’t look so downcast. I think, one day, you may be a very good swordsman, too.’
Considerably cheered, Mr Morley followed him back to the inn parlour. Miss Paradise, who was looking pale and frightened, sprang up at their entrance and gave a gasp of relief.
‘Oh, you haven’t killed each other!’ she cried thankfully.
‘No; it was much too fine a morning for anything of that nature,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Instead, we have decided that it will be best if I take you back to your papa, Miss Paradise. These Gretna marriages are not quite the thing, you know.’
Miss Paradise seemed undecided, and looked towards Mr Morley for support.
‘We shall have to give it up, Bab,’ he said gloomily.
Miss Paradise sighed.
‘I suppose we shall, though it does seem horridly flat to go home without any adventure at all.’
‘Well, I’ve fought my first duel,’ pointed out Mr Morley.
‘Yes, but I haven’t done anything!’ objected Miss Paradise.
‘On the contrary,’ put in Sir Roland tactfully, ‘you were the whole cause of the duel.’
‘So I was!’ said Miss Paradise, brightening. She gave Sir Roland one of her frank smiles. ‘You are not at all what I thought you would be,’ she confided. ‘I didn’t suppose you were the sort of person who would come after us so – so romantically!’
Sir Roland looked down at her with a rueful twinkle in his eyes.
‘Miss Paradise, I must make a confession. I did not come after you.’
‘You did not? But – but what did you come for, then?’ she asked, considerably astonished.
‘I came to meet my sister and my young brother,’ said Sir Roland.
‘Sister! Brother!’ echoed Miss Paradise. ‘I did not know you had any. How can this be? Did you not see my father last night? There must be some mistake!’
