‘No, my friend,’ he said one morning, turning on the faithful watch-dog who was about to follow him out: ‘I need no escort, by your leave.’
‘No question of need, Sir, but of sociability,’ answered Clerivault sweetly. ‘You may favour your own company more than I do mine.’
‘I do for the nonce. I would be alone, my good fellow. You hear?’
‘With difficulty, Sir. I am dull o’ the lug this morning. I shall hear better in the fresh air.’
‘Clerivault, I would not have us quarrel.’
‘God forbid!’
‘I say God forbid.’
‘May I not follow, even at a distance?’
‘To stick in my thoughts like a pursuing conscience! No, stay where you are. I shall be back anon.’
The man looked after him wistfully as he disappeared; but Brion’s mood had been so peremptory that he dared not disobey. He only groaned and shook his head, as he turned back into the yard from which the other had gone forth. As he did so, he was passed by a stranger who had risen hastily from drinking a mug of ale at one of the tables hard by, and who also vanished through the archway leading into the street.