Dunborough had not entertained the least idea that any one stood near
him, and the surprise was as complete as the check. After an instinctive
attempt to wrench away his hand, he stood glaring at the person who held
him. 'Curse you!' he said. 'Who are you? And what do you mean?'
Not to sit by and see murder done,' Sir George answered firmly.
'To-morrow you will thank me.'
'For the present I'll thank you to release my hand,' the other retorted
in a freezing tone. Nevertheless, Sir George thought that the delay had
sobered him, and complied. 'Much obliged to you,' Dunborough continued.
'Now perhaps you will walk into the next room, where there is a light,
and we can be free from that scum.'
Mr. Thomasson had already set the example of a prudent retreat thither;
and Lord Almeric, with a feeble, 'Lord, this is very surprising! But I
think that the gentleman is right, Dunny,' was hovering in the doorway.
Sir George signed to Mr. Dunborough to go first, but he would not, and
Soane, shrugging his shoulders, preceded him.
The room into which they all crowded was no more than a closet,
containing a dusty bureau propped on three legs, a few books, and Mr.
Thomasson's robes, boots, and wig-stand. It was so small that when they
were all in it, they stood perforce close together, and had the air of
persons sheltering from a storm. This nearness, the glare of the lamp on
their faces, and the mean surroundings gave a kind of added force to Mr.
Dunborough's rage. For a moment after entering he could not speak; he
had dined largely, and sat long after dinner; and his face was suffused
with blood. But then, 'Tommy, who is--this--fellow?' he cried, blurting
out the words as if each must be the last.
'Good heavens!' cried the tutor, shocked at the low appellation.' Mr.
Dunborough! Mr. Dunborough! You mistake. My dear sir, my dear friend,
you do not understand. This is Sir George Soane, whose name must be
known to you. Permit me to introduce him.'
Then take that for a meddler and a coxcomb, Sir George Soane!' cried
the angry man; and quick as thought he struck Sir George, who was at
elbows with him, lightly in the face.
Sir George stepped back, his face crimson. 'You are not sober, sir!' he
said.
'Is not that enough?' cried the other, drowning both Mr. Thomasson's
exclamation of horror and Lord Almeric's protest of, 'Oh, but I say, you
know--' under the volume of his voice. 'You have a sword, sir, and I
presume you know how to use it. If there is not space here, there is a
room below, and I am at your service. You will not wipe that off by
rubbing it,' he added coarsely.