Starwick’s reply to this was to pick up the seltzer bottle on the table and, without for a moment altering his air of cold impassivity, to squirt the siphon straight in the little Frenchman’s yellow face.
In a moment, the place was a seething maelstrom of excitement. People all over sprang up from their tables, the dancers stopped dancing, the orchestra stopped with a crash, and the proprietor and the waiter came towards them on the run.
They were at once surrounded by an excited group of gesticulating, chattering people, all trying to talk at once. Starwick was standing up now, facing his antagonist, cold and impassive save for a deeper flush of excitement on his ruddy face. As for the little Frenchman, the look of murderous hatred on his face was horrible. Without stopping to dry his dripping face with the napkin which an excited and persuasive waiter was offering him, he thrust aside the manager, who was trying to restrain him, and coming close to Starwick, snarled:
“Your name, monsieur? I demand to know your name. My representatives will call upon you in the morning.”
“Good,” said Starwick coldly. “I shall wait for them. Monsieur shall have whatever satisfaction he desires.”
And taking a card from his purse, he wrote the studio address below his name and gave it to the man.
“Ah, good!” the Frenchman cried harshly, glancing at it. “Until tomorrow!”
And calling for his bill, and silent to all the apologies and cajoleries of the proprietor, he departed.
“But Frank, darling!” Elinor cried, when they had seated themselves again. “What do you intend to do? Surely you’re not going to—” She did sot finish, but stared at him with a troubled and astonished face.
“Yes,” said Starwick coldly and quietly. “He has asked me to fight a duel, and if he wants it, I shall meet him.”
“Oh, but don’t be absurd!” cried Elinor with an impatient laugh. “What on earth do you know about fighting duels? My poor child, how can you be so ridiculous! This is the twentieth century, darling. Don’t you know that people don’t act that way any longer?”
“Quite!” said Starwick, with a stony calm. “Nevertheless, I shall meet him if he wants me to.” He looked at her with quiet eyes for a moment, and then said gravely: “I’ve got to do that. I really have, you know.”
“Got to!” Elinor cried impatiently. “Why, the child is mad!” Her tone immediately became crisp, incisive, authoritative: she began to speak
