"What can you be thinking of?" my father remonstrated. "Engage me with a
small sword? It is incredible."

"I have been waiting almost twelve hours for the opportunity," I replied.
"Pray put yourself on guard, father."

His stony look of repression had left him. The lines about his mouth
relaxed again. For a moment I thought the gaze he bent upon me was almost
kindly. Then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, and began slowly to
unwind a handkerchief which he had tied about his right hand, disclosing
several cuts on his knuckles.

"I forgot that Captain Tracy might have teeth," he said. "Positively, my
son, you become disappointing. I had given you credit for more
imagination, and instead you think you can match your sword against mine.
Pray do not interrupt, Mademoiselle," he added, turning to her with a
bow, "it will be quite nothing, and we have neither of us had much
exercise."

He paused, and carefully divested himself of his coat, folding it neatly,
and placing it on the table. When it was placed to advantage, he drew his
sword, and tested its point on the floor.

"Who knows," he added, bending the blade, "perhaps we may have sport
after all. Lawton was never bad with the foils."

We had only crossed swords long enough for me to feel the supple play
of his wrist before I began to press him. I feinted, and disengaged,
and a second later I had lunged over his guard, and had forced him to
give back.