E. R. Punshon

“ Wynne hearing.
“What?” said Christabel, puzzled.
“And they’ve accepted.”
“Who?” asked Christabel, more puzzled still.
“And they’re to meet at half-past seven to-morrow morning meadow by the river where that duel was fought a hundred years ago, and I know they’ll both be killed, I do.”
“Dorothea!” gasped Christabel.
Dorothea wept.
“You don’t mean ... you don't,” Christabel panted, “You can’t ever possibly mean that they are going to fight ... a duel ... in the river meadow? You don’t mean...”
“Yes, I just do,” said Dorothea. And she fairly howled.
“About ... about ... us?” ”

“ She had her plans laid At the very last moment they would burst from their concealment, confront the two rash and guilty youths, cover them with humiliation and confusion, give them such a talking to as they would never forget, forgive them only on condition of their being on their very best behaviour for—oh, for ever so long. But it would not do for them to show themselves too soon; half the effect would be spoiled by a premature appearance. ”

“ Willy did, in fact, now stop, for the purpose of emitting a mighty yawn But Charley continued steadily, remorselessly.
“You see, they mean to fight in their shirts ... it’s always done,” Christabel explained, quickly.
“But they’re not stopping at their shirts,” Dorothea pointed out, blushing.
Indeed, Charley was already struggling with that garment to remove it, while Willy seemed to be hurrying to catch him up. As for Christabel and Dorothea, they had both become very pale. Christabel trembled like a leaf, and into Dorothea’s mind there crept a horrible, a devastating suspicion. ”