Alexander Lauderdale Junior had got his deserts and more also, and he knew it. But he stood still where he was.
“It’s useless to argue with a man in your state—” he began.
“Are you going, you damned coward?” roared old Robert. “Ring the bell, Jack—send for the men—turn that brute out—”
He was beside himself with rage, but John glanced at Alexander, and then walked slowly towards the nearest bell. He was not inclined to spare the man who had injured Katharine. Perhaps most men in his position would have carried out the orders of the master of the house. Seeing that he was in the act to press the button, Alexander yielded. It was not at all probable that the millionaire’s half dozen Englishmen would disobey their master, and Robert was capable at the present moment of having him literally kicked into the middle of the street. He had the temper that ran through all the blood of the Lauderdale tribe, and it was up—the fierce, Lowland Scotch temper that is hard to rouse, and long controllable, but dangerous at the last. He had disliked and despised his nephew for years, but had not sought occasion against him. The occasion had come suddenly and by violence, and the wild beast in him was let loose.
Katharine’s eyes followed her father’s tall figure, as he stalked out of the room, with an odd expression. She was avenged for much in that moment.
“Brute!” growled Robert Lauderdale, as he disappeared behind the curtain.
“Infernal scoundrel!” answered Ralston, through his closed teeth.
“I’m so sorry I screamed, uncle Robert,” said Katharine. “I waked you—”
Mrs. Deems interrupted her. She had ripped the seam of the tight sleeve, for she knew that it could not be drawn over the broken arm. On the white flesh there were two sets of marks—the one red, and evidently produced in the late struggle. The others were black and blue. They were side by side, the one set a little higher than the second. The arm was already much swollen. Mrs. Deems had listened in silence to what had been said, and her womanly heart had risen in sympathy for Katharine. She touched Robert Lauderdale’s sleeve, and pointed to the old marks on Katharine’s arm, calling his attention to them.
“Those weren’t made now, Mr. Lauderdale,” she said, in a low, matter-of-fact tone.