“Will you take your hand off the bridle?” said he, quietly—“you’re hurting my pony’s mouth.”
“You and your pony be—”
“What makes you so coarse and brutal, Markham? I’m quite ashamed of you.”
“You answer my questions—before you leave this spot! I will know what you mean by this perfidious duplicity!”
“I shall answer no questions till you let go the bridle,—if you stand till morning.”
“Now then,” said I, unclosing my hand, but still standing before him.
“Ask me some other time, when you can speak like a gentleman,” returned he, and he made an effort to pass me again; but I quickly re-captured the pony, scarce less astonished than its master at such uncivil usage.
“Really, Mr. Markham, this is too much!” said the latter. “Can I not go to see my tenant on matters of business, without being assaulted in this manner by—?”
“This is no time for business, sir!—I’ll tell you, now, what I think of your conduct.”
“You’d better defer your opinion to a more convenient season,” interrupted he in a low tone—“here’s the vicar.” And, in truth, the vicar was just behind me, plodding homeward from some remote corner of his parish. I immediately released the squire; and he went on his way, saluting Mr. Millward as he passed.