"But listen," Leonard interrupted eagerly, "I heard him distinctly whispering to you that to-morrow was to be his great day; all that he needed was inspiration, that he must carry with him on to the platform memories and hopes—and a lot of slush of that sort."
"Quite right," she assented. "I promised that I would not go to bed to-night until I had seen him. I am sure he will be here presently."
"Very well, then," I decided, "he shall have his chance. If he is just ordinarily offensive, he shall get the hiding he deserves, as publicly as possible, and the chief must be satisfied with that. If he attempts anything else—well, we are prepared."
Leonard was out of the room for a few minutes, and Rose held out a hand to me a little tremulously.
"Maurice," she said, and there was a look of trouble in her dear eyes, "I don't like this. I hate that man near me. I hate the idea that I may have to listen to horrible things from him."
"And I hate the thought of your doing it," I answered firmly. "Say the word, Rose, and we'll finish here. The pamphlet's enough. Any reasonable Englishman would be justified in giving him a thrashing for that."
She shook her head regretfully.
"The other is better, of course; only swear that you will not leave me alone for five seconds."
"I can promise that," I told her grimly.