"My friend," he said between his teeth, "there is something in this matter which is bad for me."
"Let me go," she breathed and struck at his face.
For a full minute they struggled, and then the door opened and Mr. Briggerland came in, and at the sight of his livid face, Mordon released his hold.
"You swine!" hissed the big man. His fist shot out and Mordon went down with a crash to the ground. For a moment he was stunned, and then with a snarl he turned over on his side and whipped a revolver from his hip pocket. Before he could fire, the girl had gripped the pistol and wrenched it from his hand.
"Get up," said Briggerland sternly. "Now explain to me, my friend, what you mean by this disgraceful attack upon mademoiselle."
The man rose and dusted himself mechanically and there was that in his face which boded no good to Mr. Briggerland.
Before he could speak Jean intervened.
"Father," she said quietly, "you have no right to strike François."
"François," spluttered Briggerland, his dark face purple with rage.
"François," she repeated calmly. "It is right that you should know that François and I will be married next week."