Warwick Deeping

“ A cold anger began to stir in Hilary Blake.
"My business is my own. Sir Royce Severn. Pray leave it at that." The other answered him sharply.
"I deny that, Captain Blake; I deny that flatly. It is my business to tell you that Judith Strange is a dangerous woman."
The path had reached a spot where great oaks were gathered together, casting a half gloom over the grass. Under their canopies the stormy sky showed yellow and red.
Blake stopped dead and faced the man in green. ”

“ He had a little book of fishing flies in his hands, and as he played with it casually his eyes looked at Hilary Blake with an ironical insolence that was but half veiled.
Blake hardly knew the man, save by sight and reputation. He was Sir Royce Severn, of Moor Hall, a man with a mystery round him and more duels to his credit than his neighbours cared to mention. In fact, there was a sort of dread of him dominating the neighbourhood. He lived practically alone at Moor Hall, up yonder against the northern sky, a grim, secretive sort of creature who rode, and shot, and fished alone. ”

“ Maundrell pulled out his tortoise-shell snuff-box and took snuff vigorously.
"So you want to marry Judith Strange. I know how Severn has persecuted her. It is a pity someone has not shot the beast; I have thought of doing it myself. But do you know what you are doing, Blake?"
"I am going to marry Judith Strange."
"Yes, yes; all very well that. But this man Severn can shoot and fence like the devil himself. He is the coolest and most deadly beast when there is fighting afoot. Who has the choice of weapons?" ”

“ There are some men, Blake, who can never take kindly to sabre play, just as some men would rather be slashed than pinked through the liver. Sabres: excellent!"
He walked up and down, limping slightly, from an old wound that he had got at Fontenoy.
"Where do we meet, lad?"
"In the little meadow behind the fir plantation above Gaymer's farm."
"At six?"
"At six. I take the sabres. Severn has his choice. A friend is to second him."
"I know that friend of his. A little brown beast of a French fencing-master. Sabres: excellent! Look you, lad, speed is the great thing against a man like Severn. ”

“ You appear to know very little about women. Judith Strange would flirt on her wedding morning. But I, Captain Blake, want no youngsters playing round the woman I mean to marry. If moths come to my candle, pff, I snuff them out. Only twice, sir, have men dared to fight with me. They did not need a second dose."
He tucked his hunting-crop under his arm, took off his hat ironically, and left Blake standing.
For the moment Hilary Blake's anger had died out of him. He saw Sir Royce Severn disappear among the trees, and felt himself a fool for having ridden the high horse. ”

“ No, no; have I not told you that this man is a devil? No one in these parts would dare to cross him. He can shoot as no mortal man should shoot, and they say that the best French swordsmen could not touch him. It is death. ”