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Updated: May 4, 2025
Falgate, an extravagant young buck of his acquaintance. An odder pair of sponsors he could not have found had he been at pains to choose them so. "Adso!" swore Mr. Falgate, in his shrill, affected voice. "I vow 'tis a most ungenteel hour, this, for men of quality to be abroad. I had my beauty sleep broke into to be here in time. Lard! I shall be dozing all day for't!"
He was impelled to recapitulate his injunctions; but he forbore. He put out his hand abruptly. "Good-night, Justin." Justin took the hand and pressed it. The door opened, and Leduc entered. "Captain Mainwaring and Mr. Falgate are here, sir, and would speak with you," he announced. Mr. Caryll knit his brows a moment.
Now as I had not seen it, and do not greatly care for such sort of exhibitions, I was obliged to return a cold negative. However he assured me that I had lost a fine treat, as it far exceeded the show of last year. We were now approaching Norton Falgate, when the sight of some shop-goods ticketed freshened him up into a dissertation upon the cheapness of cottons this spring.
A straightening of the arm on the part of Mr. Caryll, and the engagement would have been at an end. Mr. Caryll, however, did not straighten his arm. He was observed to smile as he broke ground and waited for his lordship to recover. Falgate turned pale. Mainwaring swore softly under his breath, in fear for his principal; Gascoigne did the same in vexation at the opportunity Mr.
Falgate, in the background, sick to the point of faintness, stood dabbing his lips with his handkerchief and swearing that he would rot before he allowed himself again to be dragged into an affair of honor. "Ye damned cutthroat!" swore the militia captain, standing over the man he had felled. "D'ye know what'll be the fruits of this? Ye'll swing at Tyburn like the dirty thief y' are. God help me!
He took off his hat and delicately mopped his brow with a square of lace he called a handkerchief. "Shall we come to business, gentlemen?" quoth Mainwaring gruffly. "With all my heart," answered Wharton. "It is growing late." "Late! La, my dears!" clucked Mr. Falgate in horror. "Has your grace not been to bed yet?"
Then, doing as Mr. Caryll had bidden him, he stooped to recover his blade. A moment he held it, looking after his departing adversary; then with swift, silent stealth he sprang to follow. His fell intent was written on his face. Falgate gasped a helpless fool while Mainwaring hurled himself forward to prevent the thing he saw impended. Too late.
This to Falgate, whose name was Francis, and who delighted in the feminine diminutive which his intimates used toward him. "Come help me with my clothes." "I vow to Gad," protested Mr. Falgate, advancing to the task. "I make but an indifferent valet, my dear." Mr. Caryll stood thoughtful a moment when Rotherby's wishes had been made known to him.
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