Chris’s face grew set and stony looking, but he did not move. One hand held the rod, and the other was in his pocket, so that he offered an easy mark for a blow such as he felt would pay him back for the one which had sent Glyddyr over in the study at the Fort.
But he knew that the blow would not come, and a curiously mocking smile slowly dawned upon his lip as he saw that Glyddyr was trembling with impotent rage, and dared not strike.
“Well?” said Chris. “Have you any more to say?”
“You shall pay bitterly for these insults,” whispered Glyddyr; for he could not speak aloud.
“When you like, Mr Glyddyr,” said Chris coolly; “but you dare not ask me for payment. I told you that blow was an accident—so it was.”
“You lie!”
Chris flushed.
“Do I?” he said hoarsely. “A minute ago I was sorry that I had struck you inadvertently, and I apologised as a gentleman should.”
“A gentleman!” said Glyddyr mockingly.
“Yes, sir, a gentleman; but you called me a cad and a liar, so now I tell you I’m glad I did strike you, and that it wouldn’t take much to make me undo the rod and use the second joint to give you a good thrashing. Good-morning.”