the theory of duelling,«
said Valentin. »It is our custom, and I think it is a good thing. Quite apart
from the goodness of the cause in which a duel may be fought, it has a kind of
picturesque charm which in this age of vile prose seems to me greatly to
recommend it. It's a remnant of a higher-tempered time; one ought to cling to
it. Depend upon it; a duel is never amiss.«
    »I don't know what you mean by a higher-tempered time,« said Newman.
»Because your great-grandfather was an ass, is that any reason why you should
be? For my part, I think we had better let our temper take care of itself; it
generally seems to me quite high enough; I am not afraid of being too meek. If
your great-grandfather were to make himself unpleasant to me, I think I could
manage him yet.«
    »My dear friend,« said Valentin, smiling, »you can't invent anything that
will take the place of satisfaction for an insult. To demand it and to give it
are equally excellent arrangements.«
    »Do you call this sort of thing satisfaction?« Newman asked. »Does it
satisfy you to receive a present of the carcass of that coarse fop? does it
gratify you to make him a present of yours? If a man hits you, hit him back; if
a man libels you, haul him up.«
    »Haul him up, into court? Oh, that is very nasty!« said Valentin.
    »The nastiness is his - not yours. And for that matter, what you are doing
is not particularly nice. You are too good for it. I don't say you are the most
useful man in the world, or the cleverest, or the most amiable. But you are too
good to go and get your throat cut for a prostitute.«
    Valentin flushed a little, but he laughed. »I shan't get my throat cut if I
can help it. Moreover, one's honour hasn't two different measures. It only knows
that it is hurt; it doesn't ask when, or how, or where.«
    »The more fool it is!« said Newman.
    Valentin ceased to laugh; he looked grave. »I beg you not to say any more,«
he said. »If you do I shall almost fancy you don't care about - about« - and he
paused.
    »