“Repeat your words louder, sir. The just indignation of a gentleman has sent the blood boiling to my head. I don’t hear you.”

“I say,” repeated Fledgeby, with laborious explanatory politeness, “I beg your pardon.”

Mr. Lammle paused. “As a man of honour,” said he, throwing himself into a chair, “I am disarmed.”

Mr. Fledgeby also took a chair, though less demonstratively, and by slow approaches removed his hand from his nose. Some natural diffidence assailed him as to blowing it, so shortly after its having assumed a personal and delicate, not to say public, character; but he overcame his scruples by degrees, and modestly took that liberty under an implied protest.

“Lammle,” he said sneakingly, when that was done, “I hope we are friends again?”