Frank, in a still worse light, insisted on maintaining his love for a bastard and a pauper.
For Frank's affair she had received some poor consolation by laying all the blame on the squire's shoulders. What she had then said was now repaid to her with interest; for not only had she been the maker of Augusta's match, but she had boasted of the deed with all a mother's pride.
It was from Beatrice that Frank had obtained his tidings. This last resolve on the part of Mr. Moffat had not altogether been unsuspected by some of the Greshams, though altogether unsuspected by the Lady Arabella. Frank had spoken of it as a possibility to Beatrice, and was not quite unprepared when the information reached him. He consequently bought his big-cutting whip, and wrote his confidential letter to Harry Baker.
On the following day Frank and Harry might have been seen, with their heads nearly close together, leaning over one of the tables in the large breakfast-room at the Tavistock Hotel in Covent Garden. The ominous whip, to the handle of which Frank had already made his hand well accustomed, was lying on the table between them; and ever and anon Harry Baker would take it up and feel its weight approvingly. Oh, Mr. Moffat! poor Mr. Moffat! go not out into the fashionable world to-day; above all, go not to that club of thine in Pall Mall; but, oh! especially go not there, as is thy wont to do, at three o'clock in the afternoon!
With much care did those two young generals lay their plans of attack. Let it not for a moment be thought that it was ever in the minds of either of them that two men should attack one. But it was thought that Mr. Moffat might be rather coy in coming out from his seclusion to meet the proffered hand of his once intended brother-in-law when he should see that hand armed with a heavy whip. Baker, therefore, was content to act as a decoy duck, and remarked that he might no doubt also make himself useful in restraining the public mercy, and, probably, in controlling the interference of policemen.
'It will be deuced hard if I can't get five or six shies at him,' said Frank, again clutching his weapon almost spasmodically. Oh, Mr. Moffat! five or six shies with such a whip, and such an arm! For myself, I would sooner join in a second Balaclava gallop than encounter it.
At ten minutes before four these two heroes might be seen walking up Pall Mall, towards the Club. Young Baker walked with an eager disengaged air. Mr. Moffat did not know his appearance; he had, therefore, no anxiety to pass along unnoticed. But Frank had in some mysterious way drawn his hat
