“You,” said Chester, firmly, “you and your brother. I will have an explanation with you both. I will see—I will not be put off like this.”
“Confound him!” muttered James Clareborough between his teeth.
“Here, I say, old chap,” growled his brother, who now appeared, “have you been dining somewhere and over-doing it a bit? Hadn’t you better go home quietly? We don’t want to whistle for a policeman and have you locked up.”
“You hold your tongue!” cried James Clareborough. “I’ll soon settle with this gentleman. Now then, my tipsy individual, you want a few words with me—an explanation?”
“Yes and at once,” cried Chester, beside himself with rage at the very sight of the man whose conduct toward Marion absolutely maddened him.
As he spoke he pressed forward to enter, but the brothers barred the way.
“No, no,” said the elder, “none of that. We’re not going to have the house disturbed by your ravings. It’s only a few minutes to the Park—come on there and we’ll have it out, and done with it.”
“No; we won’t,” growled the younger brother, fiercely, and, placing his hands suddenly upon Chester’s breast, he gave him a heavy thrust, drove him staggering back, and almost in the one effort snatched his brother aside and banged to the door.
“What the devil do you mean by that?” cried James Clareborough, savagely, as he tried to reopen the door, but his brother placed his back to it and held him off.
“To keep you cool, old man,” growled the younger. “Get him in the Park at this time, with no one near! What did you mean to do?”