"Oh, indeed," said a jarring, sneering voice close by; "was you?" And he looked up and saw Tipping standing over him with a plainly hostile intent.
"Go away, Tipping," said Dulcie; "we don't want you. Dick is telling me a secret."
"He's very fond of telling, I know," retorted Tipping. "If you knew what a sneak he was you'd have nothing to do with him, Dulcie. I could tell you things about him that——"
"He's not a sneak," said Dulcie. "Are you, Dick? Why don't you go, Tipping. Never mind what he says, Dick; go on as if he wasn't there. I don't care what he says!"
It was a most unpleasant situation for Mr. Bultitude, but he did not like to offend Tipping. "I—I think—some other time, perhaps," he said nervously. "Not now."
"Ah, you're afraid to say what you were going to say now I'm here," said the amiable Tipping, nettled by Dulcie's little air of haughty disdain. "You're a coward; you know you are. You pretend to think such a lot of Dulcie here, but you daren't fight!"
"Fight!" said Mr. Bultitude. "Eh, what for?"
"Why, for her, of course. You can't care much about her if you daren't fight for her. I want to show her who's the best man of the two!"
"I don't want to be shown," wailed poor Dulcie piteously, clinging to the reluctant Paul; "I know. Don't fight with him, Dick. I say you're not to."
"Certainly not!" said Mr. Bultitude with great decision. "I shouldn't think of such a thing!" and he rose from the bench and was about to walk away, when Tipping suddenly pulled off his coat and began to make sundry demonstrations of a martial nature, such as dancing aggressively towards his rival and clenching his fists.