"No. You asked what right I had to...." Blanche moved her arm stiffly, and Patricia saw its wretched thinness, and the ugly bone at the elbow. "Of course, I haven't any right...."
"You really mustn't make a scene, my dear Blanche," interposed Monty. "It's quite out of the piece, so to speak. You interrupted a conversation...."
"I came, because I wanted to see you, Monty," said Blanche. "But the conversation I interrupted concerns me very vitally. Miss Quin, you may not be to blame. I can't tell. It's all so ... peculiar. You're only a vain little fool, of course. But Monty has no right to offer you marriage."
"I can assure you," answered Patricia, with undesignedly offensive coolness which arose from her fear and her effort at self-control, "that that doesn't in the least matter."
"And now, good-night, Patricia. I'll see you to the door," said Monty.
"No!" Blanche pressed back. "Miss Quin: Monty and I have quarrelled. We quarrelled here a fortnight ago, and he has not answered my letters——"
"My dear Blanche! The story of our quarrel—" Monty approached, seizing Blanche's arm. He could quite easily have torn her from the door and made way for Patricia, and that was clearly his object. His hand was to her elbow, and Blanche was already bent to exert her strength in resistance. But as Monty's grip tightened, she said in a very low tone:
"Do you want me to scream, and bring the others? Then let go my arm."
Patricia's saw Monty's teeth bared, his left fist clenched. And then he stood back a little way.