“I will speak—”
“You will not,” said Cheriton, grasping his hand, and looking full in his face. “You forget yourself, Alvar. Don’t say what we could never forget or forgive.”
But Alvar flung him off with a violence and scorn that roused the two lads to fury, and made Cheriton’s own blood tingle as Jack sprang forward,—
“I won’t have that,” he said, in a tone as low as Alvar’s was high, but to the full as threatening.
“I’ll give you a licking if you touch my brother,” shouted Bob, with a rough, schoolboy enforcement of the threat.
“Hush!” said Cheriton; “for God’s sake, stop—all of you! We are not boys now, to threaten each other. Stop, while there is time. Stand back, I say, Jack, and be silent!”
The whole thing had passed in half a minute; Alvar’s own furious gesture had sobered him, and he threw himself into a seat; while Cheriton’s steady voice and look controlled the two lads, and gave Jack time to recollect himself.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Alvar stood up, bowed haughtily, like a duellist after the encounter, and walked out of the room. Jack, after a minute, broke into an odd, harsh laugh, and, pushing open the window, leant out of it.
“One wants air. That was a critical moment,” he said.
“I’ll not stand that sort of thing; I’ll go back to Ashrigg; I’ll not come here again,” said Bob. “What did you stop us for, Cherry, when we were going to show him a piece of our minds?”