I shook my head. "No!"

He resumed his old position.

"Glad to hear you say so. Now,--what else? Blest if this doesn't make me feel quite a devil, to be lectured and questioned by my young brother,--my own, dear, little, preaching, farmer, kid of a brother."

"You will go to her a Brammerton, fulfilling the vow made by a Brammerton, with a Brammerton's honour, unstained, unblemished,--'Clean,--within and without'?"

He rose slowly from the chest and faced me squarely.

There was nothing of the coward in Harry.

His eye glistened with a cruel light. "Have a care, little brother,"

he said between his regular, white teeth. "Have a care."

"Why, Harry," I remonstrated in feigned surprise, "what's the matter?

What have I said amiss?"

He had always played the big, patronising, bossing brother with me and I had suffered it from him, although, from a physical standpoint, the suffering of late had been one of good-natured tolerance. To-day, there was something in my manner that told him he had reached the end of it.

"Tell me what you mean?" he snarled.

"If you do not know what I mean, brother mine, sit down and I will tell you."

"No!" he answered.

"Oh, well!--I'll tell you anyway."

I went up close to him. "What are you going to do about Peggy Darrol?"

I demanded.

The shot hit hard; but he was almost equal to it. He sat down on the chest again and toyed once more with the point of the rapier. Then, without looking up, he answered:

"Peggy Darrol,--eh, George! Peggy Darrol, did you say? Who the devil is she? Oh,--ah,--eh,--oh, yes! the blacksmith's sister,--um,--nice little wench, Peggy:--attractive, fresh, clinging, strawberries and cream and all that sort of thing. Bit of a dreamer, though!"

"Who set her dreaming?" I asked, pushing my anger back.

"Hanged if I know; born in her I suppose. It is part of every woman's make-up. Pretty little thing, though; by Gad! she is."

"Yes! she is pretty; and she was good as she is pretty until she got tangled up with you."

Harry sprang up and menaced me.

"What do you mean, you,--you?---- What are you driving at? What's your game?"

"Oh! give over this rotten hypocrisy," I shouted, pushing him back.

"Hit you on the raw, did it?"

He drew himself up.

"No! it didn't. But I have had more than enough of your impertinences.

I would box your ears for the unlicked pup you are, if I could do it without soiling my palms."

I smiled.

"Those days are gone, Harry,--and you know it, too. Let us cut this evasion and tom-foolery. You have got that poor girl into a sc.r.a.pe.

What are you going to do about getting her out of it?"

"_I_ have got her into trouble? How do you know _I_ have? Her word for it, I suppose? A fine state of affairs it has come to, when any girl who gets into trouble with her clod-hopper sweetheart, has simply to accuse some one in a higher station than she, to have all her troubles ended."

He flicked some dust from his coat-sleeve. "'Gad,--we fellows would never be out of the soup."

"No! not her word," I retorted. "Little Peggy Darrol is not that sort of girl and well you know it. I have your own word for it,--in writing."

His face underwent a change in expression; his cheeks paled slightly.

I drew his letter from my pocket.

"d.a.m.n her for a little fool," he growled. He held out his hand for it.

"Oh, no! Harry,--I am keeping this meantime." And I replaced it.

"Tell me now,--what are you going to do about Peggy?" I asked relentlessly.

"Oh!" he replied easily, "don't worry. I shall have her properly looked after. She needn't fear. Probably I shall make a settlement on her; although the little idiot hardly deserves that much after giving the show away as she has done."

"Of course, you will tell Lady Rosemary of this before any announcement is made of your marriage, Harry? A Brammerton must, in all things, be honourable, 'Clean,--within and without.'"

He looked at me incredulously, and smiled almost in pity for me and my strange ideas.

"Certainly not! What do you take me for? What do you think Lady Rosemary is that I should trouble her with these petty matters?"

"Petty matters," I cried. "You call this petty? G.o.d forgive you, Harry. Petty! and that poor girl crying her heart out; her whole innocent life blasted; her future a disgrace! Petty!--my G.o.d!;--and you a Brammerton!

"But I tell you," I blazed, "you shall let Lady Rosemary know."

"And I tell you,--I shall not," he replied.

"Then, by G.o.d!--I'll do it myself," I retorted. "I give you two hours to decide which of us it is to be."

I made toward the door. But Harry sprang for his rapier, picked it up and stood with his back against my exit, the point of his weapon to my breast.

There was a wicked gleam in his narrow eyes.

"d.a.m.n you! George Brammerton, for a sneaking, prying, tale-bearing lout;--you dare not do it!"

He took a step forward.

"Now, sir,--I will trouble you for that letter."

I looked at him in astonishment. There was a strange something in his eyes I had never seen there before; a mad, irresponsible something that cared not for consequences; a something that makes heroes of some men and murderers of others. I stood motionless.