“She never told me.”
“You don’t say—”
“I do. I never knew it until too late.”
“Well, now, I’m going to fight you. I don’t swallow being called a liar. But I tell you this first, that I’m damned sorry. I never guessed that it injured your prospects.”
At another time, in another mood, Taffy might have remembered that George was George, and heir to Sir Harry’s nature. As it was, the apology threw oil on the flame.
“You cur! Do you think it was that? And you are Honoria’s husband!” He advanced with an ugly laugh. “For the last time, put up your fists.”
They had been standing within two yards of each other; and even so, shouted at the pitch of their voices to make themselves heard above the gale. As Taffy took a step forward George lifted his whip. His left hand held the bridle on which the reluctant mare was dragging, and the action was merely instinctive, to guard against sudden attack.
But as he did so his face and uplifted arm were suddenly painted clear against the darkness. The mare plunged more wildly than ever. Taffy dropped his hands and swung round. Behind him, the black contour of the hill, the whole sky welled up a pale blue light which gathered brightness while he stared. The very stones on the beach at his feet shone separate and distinct.
“What is it?” George gasped.
“A ship on the rocks! Quick, man! Will the mare reach to Innis?”