Diana of the Crossways. Complete. George Meredith

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      ‘But I will fight.’

      ‘He won’t fight.’

      ‘Then for the honour of your country you must. But I’d rather have him first, for I haven’t drunk with him, and it should be a case of necessity to put a bullet or a couple of inches of steel through the man you’ve drunk with. And what’s in your favour, she danced with ye. She seemed to take to ye, and the man she has the smallest sugar-melting for is sacred if he’s not sweet to me. If he retracts!’

      ‘Hypothetically, No.’

      ‘But supposititiously?’

      ‘Certainly.’

      ‘Then we grasp hands on it. It’s Malkin or nothing!’ said Mr. Sullivan Smith, swinging his heel moodily to wander in search of the foe. How one sane man could name another a donkey for fighting to clear an innocent young lady’s reputation, passed his rational conception.

      Sir Lukin hastened to Mr. Redworth to have a talk over old schooldays and fellows.

      ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the civilian, ‘There are Irishmen and Irishmen. I’ve met cool heads and long heads among them, and you and I knew Jack Derry, who was good at most things. But the burlesque Irishman can’t be caricatured. Nature strained herself in a ‘fit of absurdity to produce him, and all that Art can do is to copy.’

      This was his prelude to an account of Mr. Sullivan Smith, whom, as a specimen, he rejoiced to have met.

      ‘There’s a chance of mischief,’ said Sir Lukin. ‘I know nothing of the man he calls Malkin. I’ll inquire presently.’

      He talked of his prospects, and of the women. Fair ones, in his opinion, besides Miss Merion were parading; he sketched two or three of his partners with a broad brush of epithets.

      ‘It won’t do for Miss Merion’s name to be mixed up in a duel,’ said Redworth.

      ‘Not if she’s to make her fortune in England,’ said Sir Lukin. ‘It’s probably all smoke.’

      The remark had hardly escaped him when a wreath of metaphorical smoke, and fire, and no mean report, startled the company of supping gentlemen. At the pitch of his voice, Mr. Sullivan Smith denounced Mr. Malkin in presence for a cur masquerading as a cat.

      ‘And that is not the scoundrel’s prime offence. For what d’ ye think? He trumps up an engagement to dance with a beautiful lady, and because she can’t remember, binds her to an oath for a dance to come, and then, holding her prisoner to ‘m, he sulks, the dirty dogcat goes and sulks, and he won’t dance and won’t do anything but screech up in corners that he’s jilted. He said the word. Dozens of gentlemen heard the word. And I demand an apology of Misterr Malkin—or…! And none of your guerrier nodding and bravado, Mister Malkin, at me, if you please. The case is for settlement between gentlemen.’

      The harassed gentleman of the name of Malkin, driven to extremity by the worrying, stood in braced preparation for the English attitude of defence. His tormentor drew closer to him.

      ‘Mind, I give you warning, if you lay a finger on me I’ll knock you down,’ said he.

      Most joyfully Mr. Sullivan Smith uttered a low melodious cry. ‘For a specimen of manners, in an assembly of ladies and gentlemen… I ask ye!’ he addressed the ring about him, to put his adversary entirely in the wrong before provoking the act of war. And then, as one intending gently to remonstrate, he was on the point of stretching out his finger to the shoulder of Mr. Malkin, when Redworth seized his arm, saying: ‘I ‘m your man: me first: you’re due to me.’

      Mr. Sullivan Smith beheld the vanishing of his foe in a cloud of faces. Now was he wroth on patently reasonable grounds. He threatened Saxondom. Man up, man down, he challenged the race of short-legged, thickset, wooden-gated curmudgeons: and let it be pugilism if their white livers shivered at the notion of powder and ball. Redworth, in the struggle to haul him away, received a blow from him. ‘And you’ve got it! you would have it!’ roared the Celt.

      ‘Excuse yourself to the company for a misdirected effort,’ Redworth said; and he observed generally: ‘No Irish gentleman strikes a blow in good company.’

      ‘But that’s true as Writ! And I offer excuses—if you’ll come along with me and a couple of friends. The thing has been done before by torchlight—and neatly.’

      ‘Come along, and come alone,’ said Redworth.

      A way was cleared for them. Sir Lukin hurried up to Redworth, who had no doubt of his ability to manage Mr. Sullivan Smith.

      He managed that fine-hearted but purely sensational fellow so well that Lady Dunstane and Diana, after hearing in some anxiety of the hubbub below, beheld them entering the long saloon amicably, with the nods and looks of gentlemen quietly accordant.

      A little later, Lady Dunstane questioned Redworth, and he smoothed her apprehensions, delivering himself, much to her comfort, thus: ‘In no case would any lady’s name have been raised. The whole affair was nonsensical. He’s a capital fellow of a kind, capable of behaving like a man of the world and a gentleman. Only he has, or thinks he has, like lots of his countrymen, a raw wound—something that itches to be grazed. Champagne on that!… Irishmen, as far as I have seen of them, are, like horses, bundles of nerves; and you must manage them, as you do with all nervous creatures, with firmness, but good temper. You must never get into a fury of the nerves yourself with them. Spur and whip they don’t want; they’ll be off with you in a jiffy if you try it.

      They want the bridle-rein. That seems to me the secret of Irish character. We English are not bad horsemen. It’s a wonder we blunder so in our management of such a people.’

      ‘I wish you were in a position to put your method to the proof,’ said she.

      He shrugged. ‘There’s little chance of it!’

      To reward him for his practical discretion, she contrived that Diana should give him a final dance; and the beautiful gill smiled quickly responsive to his appeal. He was, moreover, sensible in her look and speech that he had advanced in her consideration to be no longer the mere spinning stick, a young lady’s partner. By which he humbly understood that her friend approved him. A gentle delirium enfolded his brain. A householder’s life is often begun on eight hundred a year: on less: on much less:—sometimes on nothing but resolution to make a fitting income, carving out a fortune. Eight hundred may stand as a superior basis. That sum is a distinct point of vantage. If it does not mean a carriage and Parisian millinery and a station for one of the stars of society, it means at any rate security; and then, the heart of the man being strong and sound…

      ‘Yes,’ he replied to her, ‘I like my experience of Ireland and the Irish; and better than I thought I should. St. George’s Channel ought to be crossed oftener by both of us.’

      ‘I’m always glad of the signal,’ said Diana.

      He had implied the people of the two islands. He allowed her interpretation to remain personal, for the sake of a creeping deliciousness that it carried through his blood.

      ‘Shall you soon be returning to England?’ he ventured to ask.

      ‘I am Lady Dunstane’s guest for some months.’

      ‘Then you will. Sir Lukin has an estate in Surrey. He talks of quitting the Service.’

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