“I don’t see where my private affairs concern you,” he said evenly, while the rest watched him with bated breath, wondering with lively interest if the next word from Enoch would start a worse quarrel.
“Your private affairs concern me,” ripped out Enoch, “when they concern those who are dear to me. I need not make it clearer—you understand perfectly whom I refer to.”
There was a louder murmur and a raising of eyebrows in quick surprise.
“I warned you, Lamont, you remember—some time ago—I thought that would be sufficient. I have learned since that it was not.”
“See here,” cried Lamont, “you leave my affairs alone. My affairs are my affairs—not yours.”
“You’re right,” put in fat Billy Adams, and was seconded by a chorus of approval.
“They’re mine, I tell you,” snapped Enoch, “as long as they concern those who are dear to me; those whom I have every right to protect.”
“Protect!” sneered Lamont. “Ah, mon Dieu!” he exclaimed, lapsing into French with a low, easy, laugh, “the one you refer to does not need your protection. I assure you she is quite capable of taking care of herself. Don’t worry; she’s no fool; let me tell you that Miss——”
Enoch’s eyes blazed.
“I forbid you,” he cried, facing him savagely, “to drag that child’s name before this company.”