"Thank you, Lucian," said Lydia rather faintly. "That is quite
enough. Are you sure that it is all true?"
"My authority is Lord Worthington, and a number of newspaper reports
which he showed me. Byron himself will probably be proud to give you
the fullest confirmation of the record. I should add, in justice to
him, that he is looked upon as a model--to pugilists--of temperance
and general good conduct."
"Do you remember my remarking a few days ago, on another subject,
how meaningless our observations are until we are given the right
thread to string them on?"
"Yes," said "Webber, disconcerted by the allusion.
"My acquaintance with this man is a case in point. He has obtruded
his horrible profession upon me every time we have met. I have
actually seen him publicly cheered as a pugilist-hero; and yet,
being off the track, and ignorant of the very existence of such a
calling, I have looked on and seen nothing."
Lydia then narrated her adventure in Soho, and listened with the
perfect patience of indifference to his censure of her imprudence in
going there alone.
"And now, Lydia," he added, "may I ask what you intend to do in this
matter?"
"What would you have me do?"
"Drop his acquaintance at once. Forbid him your house in the most
explicit terms."
"A pleasant task!" said Lydia, ironically. "But I will do it--not so
much, perhaps, because he is a prize-fighter, as because he is an
impostor. Now go to the writing-table and draft me a proper letter
to send him."
Lucian's face elongated. "I think," he said, "you can do that better
for yourself. It is a delicate sort of thing."
"Yes. It is not so easy as you implied a moment ago. Otherwise I
should not require your assistance. As it is--" She pointed again to
the table.
Lucian was not ready with an excuse. He sat down reluctantly, and,
after some consideration, indited the following: "Miss Carew presents her compliments to Mr. Cashel Byron, and begs
to inform him that she will not be at home during the remainder of
the season as heretofore. She therefore regrets that she cannot have
the pleasure of receiving him on Friday afternoon."
"I think you will find that sufficient," said Lucian.
"Probably," said Lydia, smiling as she read it. "But what shall I do
if he takes offence; calls here, breaks the windows, and beats
Bashville? Were I in his place, that is what such a letter would
provoke me to do."