"Or if anything, then a piece of primitive sarcasm.

Really, I'm sorry, since you were here; but I had no choice." "Will there be a duel ?" gurgled Dorothy, catching her breath.
Dorothy, among other valuable ideas derived from novels, had gained a middle-age impression that made flashing blades and gaping wounds a romantic probability.
"Storri is not so self-sacrificing," returned Richard with a grin, "and I am much too modern." Then in a bantering tone: "How much better was the old day when men might differ nobly foot to foot, with the fair lady to the victor and a funeral to the vanquished as the natural upshot.

It is too bad! In the name of progress we have come too far and thrown away too much!" It was among the marvels how Richard changed.

As he talked with Dorothy those eyes, late flint, became tender and laughingly honest in a fashion good to see.

He appeared younger by half, for anger is ancient and piles on the years.
"Really, Miss Harley," continued Richard, with a heroic determination to change the subject, "I haven't as yet paid my respects to you.