“Oh, indeed,” cried Bourne, in a tone of mistrust. “But here—you must not go, my dear friend, without a glass of wine or some refreshment. What will you take?”
“I would rather not have anything just now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Umph! I see how it is; you are a little out of sorts just now. Probably this may be attributable to the scene you have just witnessed: but permit me, in justice to myself, to assure you that there was a strong reason for my being so moved to anger. It is not possible to make you acquainted with the nature of the provocation I have received from that woman.”
“I do not desire to inquire into your domestic troubles—for such I suppose them to be,” said Wrench, rising; “I hope there will be no further violence displayed on either side.”
“There shall not be as far as I am concerned. I pledge my word as to that, Wrench. I lost my temper, I admit; but it is all over now. I shall be more guarded for the future. Thank you for your good advice.”
“I wish you a good evening, sir,” said the detective, with something like dignity in his tone and manner. “My friend, Mr. Shearman, will be here at the time specified. Good evening.”
“Good evening. But I say—one word before you go.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“There is no occasion for you to mention the outbreak—the fracas—you have been witness of. Do you see?”
“Yes, I will not mention it to any one.”