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think him mad.
    Grantham came into sight; in a few minutes the curricle drew up outside the George, and the first thing Miss Taverner saw was her brother’s face above the blind in one of the lower windows.
    The gentleman descended from the curricle, and held up his hand for her to take. “Do smile!” he said.
    Miss Taverner allowed him to help her down, but preserved an icy front. She swept into the inn ahead of him, and nearly collided with Peregrine, hurrying out to meet her.
    “Judith! What the devil?” exclaimed Peregrine. “Has there been an accident?”
    “Judith,” repeated the gentleman of the curricle pensively. “I prefer Clorinda.”
    “No,” said Judith. “Nothing of the sort. This—gentleman—constrained me to ride in his carriage, that is all.”
    “Constrained you!” Peregrine took a hasty step forward.
    She was sorry to have said so much, and added at once: “Do not let us be standing here talking about it! I think he is mad.”
    The gentleman gave his low laugh, and produced a snuffbox from one pocket, and held a pinch first to one nostril and then to the other.
    Peregrine advanced upon him, and said stormily: “Sir, I shall ask you to explain yourself!”
    “You forgot to tell him that I kissed you, Clorinda,” murmured the gentleman.
    “What?” shouted Peregrine.
    “For heaven’s sake be quiet!” snapped his sister.
    Peregrine ignored her. “You will meet me for this, sir! I hoped I might come upon you again, and I have. And now to find that you have dared to insult my sister. You shall hear from me!”
    A look of amusement crossed the gentleman’s face. “Are you proposing to fight a duel with me?” he inquired.
    “Where and when you like!” said Peregrine.
    The gentleman raised his brows. “My good boy, that is very heroic, but do you really think that I cross swords with every country nobody who chooses to be offended with me?”
    “Now, Julian, Julian, what are you about?” demanded a voice from the doorway into the coffee-room. “Oh, I beg pardon, ma’am! I beg pardon!” Lord Worcester came into the hall with a glass in his hand, and paused, irresolute.
    Peregrine, beyond throwing him a fleeting glance, paid no heed to him. He was searching in his pocket for a card, and this he presently thrust at the gentleman in the greatcoat. “That is my card, sir!”
    The gentleman took it between finger and thumb, and raised an eyeglass on the end of a gold stick attached to a ribbon round his neck. “Taverner,” he said musingly. “Now where have I heard that name before?”
    “I do not expect to be known to you, sir,” said Peregrine, trying to keep his voice steady. “Perhaps I am a nobody, but there is a gentleman who I think—I am sure—will be pleased to act for me: Mr. Henry Fitzjohn, of Cork Street!”
    “Oh, Fitz!” nodded Lord Worcester. “So you know him, do you?”
    “Taverner,” repeated the gentleman in the greatcoat, taking not the smallest notice of Peregrine’s speech. “It has something of a familiar ring, I think.”
    “Admiral Taverner,” said Lord Worcester helpfully. “Meet him for ever at Fladong’s.”
    “And if that is not enough, sir, to convince you that I am not unworthy of your sword, I must refer you to Lord Worth, whose ward I am!” announced Peregrine.
    “Eh?” said Lord Worcester. “Did you say you were Worth’s ward?”
    The gentleman in the greatcoat gave Peregrine back his card. “So you are my Lord Worth’s wards!” he said. “Dear me! And—er—are you at all acquainted with your guardian?”
    “That, sir, has nothing to do with you! We are on our way to visit his lordship now.”
    “Well,” said the gentleman softly, “you must present my compliments to him when you see him. Don’t forget.”
    “This is not to the point!” exclaimed Peregrine. “I have challenged you to fight, sir!”
    “I don’t think your guardian would advise you to press your challenge,” replied the gentleman with a slight