"'T is not me that has said more than three words," she cried, astonished, "and before I speak ill of anybody I hope the devil flies away with me."
Well, my father palavered on for a long time, telling her that he would take away the pension of twenty-five shillings a year which he had given her because he by accident had shot her second cousin in the leg twelve years before that time. She steadfastly answered that she would never speak ill of anybody; but the girl was a brazen-faced wench, and he was no better. My father came away, and I have no doubt the scandal would still be alive if the old woman had not died, may the saints rest her!
And so I was no longer angry with Doctor Chord, but spoke to him pleasantly.
"Come," said I, "I would have you point me out the great swordsmen, if it pleases you. I am eager to see them, and the talk will be cleanly, also."
"Aye," said my friend. "Nothing could give me more pleasure. And now, look you! The tall, straight, grave young man there is Ponsonby, who flashes the wisest blade in England unless Reginald Forister is better. Any how, Forister is not here to-day. At least I don't see him. Ponsonby fought his last duel with a gentleman named Vellum because Vellum said flatly that Mrs. Catherine Wainescorte was a"
"Stop there," said I, "and get to the tale of the fighting."
"Well, Ponsonby won without difficulty," said the Doctor; "but it is said that he took an unfair advantage"
"Stop again!" I cried. "Stop again! We will talk no more of swordsmen. Somehow I have lost
