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This was interesting. Blood-thirsty? Homicidal destruction-complex? No, not with that face.

"Whom do you want to kill?" I asked, and at once saw that I had said the wrong thing.

"Kill? What a horrible idea. I don't want to kill anybody, nor hurt anybody either. I just want to have a real fencing-match; a proper fight; a duel. I shall dress up as a cavalier and we'd fence by moonlight. Full moon, you know, on a lawn, and I'd throw off my plumed hat and velvet cloak and take off my doublet. Fight in a silk shirt and slashed velvet breeches of the Stuart period. Silk hose and buckled shoes. Take the shoes off, perhaps.

"And you'd do the same, wouldn't you? Only would you mind being a Roundhead?" he asked.

I forbore to simulate tremendous enthusiasm. Only a fool, or rather, a bigger fool than I, perhaps, would 'act' under the steady gaze of those large and level eyes.

I considered the matter.

"Yes, rather fun," I admitted. "Bit dangerous, though, with sharp points."

"Dangerous!" observed Anthony, and the fine lip curled slightly.