She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, Margaret Devereux, and made all the men frantic by running away with a penniless young fellow--a mere nobody, sir, a subaltern in a foot regiment, or something of that kind.

Certainly.

I remember the whole thing as if it happened yesterday.

The poor chap was killed in a duel at Spa a few months after the marriage.

There was an ugly story about it.