"Hi! I want to have a talk with you!"
A man was approaching. He looked like a groom, wearing gaiters as he did, and he was in his shirtsleeves. Moreover, his style and appearance was hostile.
"You're the man who was staying here for the trial!" challenged the newcomer.
"Was I—I suppose so."
"Was you!" sneered the groom savagely. "Yes, you was! Staying here with a young woman and you went and interfered with my young woman. Yes, interfered—said things to her."
His voice went up the scale until he was shouting. There was a stir of feet and men and women came to the doors of outhouses and kitchens.
"Doesn't it strike you that you are making the young lady feel uncomfortable—if she is here," said Ronnie seriously. "You are shouting what should be whispered—no, no, Parker, please do not interfere."
"I'll tell you what does strike me," bellowed the groom, rolling up his sleeves, "that I'm going to give you the damnedest lacing you ever had—put 'em up!"
He lunged forward, but his blow did not get home. A hand gripped him by one shoulder and swung him round—crash! He fell against a stable door. Happily there was a wall for Parker to lean against. He was open-mouthed—incredulous.
Phew! Morelle who was ready to drop from terror at a threat, was standing, hands on hips, surveying the bewildered fire-eater.