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Updated: June 27, 2025
"How are you, my lord?" said Linden; "not severely hurt, I trust?" "Well, quite well," cried Borodaile. "Mr. Linden, I think? I thank you cordially for your assistance; but the dog, the rascal, where is he?" "Gone," said Clarence. "Gone! Where where?" cried Borodaile; "that living man should insult me, and yet escape!"
"Your request, my friend," said La Meronville, adjusting her hair, "is but reasonable. I see that you understand these arrangements; and, for my part, I think that the end of love should always be the beginning of friendship: let it be so with us!" "You do me too much honour," said Borodaile, bowing profoundly. "Meanwhile I depend upon your promise, and bid you, as a lover, farewell forever."
Borodaile coloured: though always uncivil, he did not like to be excelled in good manners; and therefore replied, that nothing but extreme business at White's could have induced him to prefer his own way to that of Lord St. George. The good-natured peer took Lord Borodaile's arm. It was a natural incident, but it vexed the punctilious viscount that any man should take, not offer, the support.
"Have you been to Lady Westborough's lately?" said Clarence, breaking silence. "I was there last night," replied Lord Borodaile. "Indeed!" cried Clarence. "I wonder I did not see you there, for I dined with them." Lord Borodaile's hair curled of itself. "He dined there, and I only asked in the evening!" thought he; but his sarcastic temper suggested a very different reply.
Percy Bobus, the son of a wine-merchant, though the nephew of a duke, rejoined, "Nobody does know." "Insolent intruder!" thought Lord Borodaile: "a man whom nobody knows to make such advances to me!" A still greater cause of dislike to Clarence arose from jealousy. Ever since the first night of his acquaintance with Lady Flora, Lord Borodaile had paid her unceasing attention.
George replied to his observations by a monosyllable; and the Duke of Haverfield, for the first time in his life, asserted the prerogative which his rank gave him of setting the example, his grace did not reply to Lord Borodaile at all. In truth, every one present was seriously displeased. All civilized societies have a paramount interest in repressing the rude.
"So I dine with you, Lord St. George, to-day," said the duke; "whom shall I meet?" "Lord Borodaile, for one," answered St. George; "my brother, Aspeden, Findlater, Orbino, and Linden." "Linden!" cried the duke; "I'm very glad to hear it, c'est un homme fait expres pour moi.
She could not, Eleanor, she could not mean, after all her kindness to Clarence, and in spite of all her penetration into my heart, oh, no, no, she could not. How terribly suspicious this love makes one! But if I disliked Lord Borodaile at first, I have hated him of late; for, somehow or other, he is always in the way.
And Lord Borodaile, uttering a long sigh, and attempting to rise, Clarence released his hold of the republican, and bent down to assist the fallen nobleman. Meanwhile, Wolfe, muttering to himself, turned from the spot, and strode haughtily away. The watchman now came up, and, with his aid, Clarence raised Lord Borodaile.
"For Heaven's sake," whispered the duke, as he withdrew from the spot, "square your body a little more to your left and remember your exact level. Borodaile is much shorter than you." There was a brief, dread pause: the signal was given; Borodaile fired; his ball pierced Clarence's side; the wounded man staggered one step, but fell not.
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