The throng was thick, and his progress slow. He had time to observe Gerald, who was now talking to Tommy and to Sidmouth Vane, who had joined them. Gerald was speaking low, but his gestures betrayed strong excitement. Suddenly he began to walk rapidly towards George, the people seeming to fall aside from his path. Tommy Myles followed him, while Vane all but ran to George and whispered eagerly,
“For God’s sake, clear out, my dear fellow! He’s mad! There’ll be a shindy, as sure as you’re born!”
George did not like shindies, especially in drawing-rooms; but he liked running away less. “Oh, let’s wait and see,” he replied.
Gerald was looking dangerous. The healthy ruddiness of his cheek had darkened to a deep flush, his eyes looked vicious, and his mouth was set. As he walked quickly up to his cousin, everybody tried to look away; but out of the corners of two hundred eyes eager glances centred on the pair.
“May I have a word with you?” Gerald began, calmly enough.
“As many as you like; but I don’t know that this place——”
“It will do for what I have to say,” Gerald interrupted.
“All right. What is it?”
“I want two things of you. First, you will promise never to dare to address my—Mrs. Witt again.”
“And the second?” asked George.