Griffith deigned no reply: he just opened the door of the room in question, and walked the tale-bearer into the presence of the tale-maker. George Neville rose and confronted the pair with a vast appearance of civility; but under it a sneer was just discernible.
The rivals measured each other from head to foot, and then Neville inquired to what he owed the honor of this visit.
Griffith replied: "He tells me you told him Miss Peyton has exchanged horses with you."—"Oh! you indiscreet person," said George, shaking his finger playfully at Galton.—"And, by the same token, has plighted her troth to you."
"Worse and worse," said George. "Galton, I'll never trust you with any secrets again. Besides, you exaggerate."
"Come, sir," said Griffith, sternly: "this Ned Galton was but your tool, and your mouth-piece; and therefore I bring him here to witness my reply to you: Mr. George Neville, you are a liar and a scoundrel."
George Neville bounded to his feet like a tiger. "I'll have your life for those two words," he cried.
Then he suddenly governed himself by a great effort: "It is not for me to bandy foul terms with a Cumberland savage," said he. "Name your time and place."
"I will. Ned Galton, you may go, I wish to say a few words in private to Mr. Neville."
Galton hesitated. "No violence, gentlemen: consider."
"Nonsense," said Neville. "Mr. Gaunt and I are going to fight: we are not going to brawl. Be so good as to leave us."