"Insulted you!" cried the professor, in surprise, and he turned to
Margaret. "What did he say?"
"I never said a word to her," whined Judson, straightening his collar.
"I told her the seat was mine, and so it is. That wasn't insulting her."
"It's all a mistake, professor—Mr. Horn did not understand," protested Margaret. "It was his seat, not mine. He began his drawing first. I didn't know it when I commenced mine. I told Mr. Horn so."
"Why did you strike him?" asked the professor, and he turned and faced
Oliver.
"Because he had no business to speak to her as he did. She is the only lady we have among us and every man in the class ought to remember it, and every man has since I've been here except this one."
There was a slight murmur of applause. Judson's early training had been neglected as far as his manners went, and he was not popular.
The professor looked searchingly into Oliver's eyes and a flush of pride in the boy's pluck tinged his pale cheeks. He had once thrown a fellow-student out of a window in Munich himself for a similar offence, and old as he was he had never forgotten it.
"You come from the South, Mr. Horn, I hear," he said in a gentler voice, "and you are all a hot-tempered race, and often do foolish things. Judson meant no harm—he says so, and Miss Grant says so. Now you two shake hands and make up. We are trying to learn to draw here, not to batter each other's heads."
Oliver's eyes roved from one to the other; he was too astonished to make further reply. He had only done what he knew every other man around Kennedy Square would have done under similar circumstances, and what any other woman would have thanked him for. Why was everybody here against him—even the girl herself! What sort of people were these who would stand by and see a woman insulted and make no defence or outcry? He could not have looked his father in the face again, nor Sue, nor anyone else in Kennedy Square, if he had failed to protect her.
For a moment he hesitated, his eyes searching each face. He had hoped that someone who had witnessed the outrage would come forward and uphold his act. When no voice broke the stillness he crossed the room and taking the lithographer's hand, extended rather sullenly, answered, quietly: "If Miss Grant is satisfied, I am," and peace was once more restored.