"Well, Norman," cried Eric, advancing eagerly as they turned from the
window, "when do you really suppose it will come off?"
"Suppose what will come off?" inquired Mae.
"O, I forgot you were here. Well, don't tell any one else. Norman is to
fight a duel."
"To fight a duel--and be killed?" gasped Mae.
"You have but a poor opinion of my powers," laughed Norman, "although
the German looked a veteran duellist from his scars. His face was fairly
embroidered or fancy-worked with red lines. A sort of hem in his nose,
and tucks and seams all over his cheeks. Notice my knowledge in this
line, Miss Mae. You ought to be ashamed, Eric, to have spoken of it."
"Isn't it all a joke?" asked Mae, pushing her head out of the window
again, to hide the sudden white terror in her face. "I didn't suppose
Americans fought duels when they were off pleasuring." This sentence Mae
meant to pass as a gay, light, easy speech, to prove that Norman Mann
and a duel were not such a very dreadful combination to her feminine
mind.
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