“Heaven knows,” cried Richard. “I tell you I found him grossly insulting her, and I took the dog’s whip from him, and thrashed him till my arm ached.”
“And the lady flung herself into your arms, called you her gallant, her brave preserver, and you embraced and swore fidelity, while the wicked villain, the dog that you had thrashed, sneaked off snarling, with his tail between his legs.”
Richard turned upon him fiercely, but he checked his anger as he met the Colonel’s mocking eyes.
“You do not know Claire Denville,” he said coldly.
“But, Dick, lad, come—there was the embracing and thanks?”
“Miss Denville is a sweet, true lady,” said Richard, “whom I fear I may never win.”
“Never win!” said the Colonel mockingly. “Dick, Dick, what a child you are! I used, a year or two back, to be glad you were so different to the other men here; but now I almost regret that you have not led a faster life. You are such an innocent boy.”
“Shall we turn back?” said Richard abruptly.
“Turn back, man, no. We have not said a word yet about your meeting. Don’t be angry with me, lad. Believe me, I am one of your truest friends.”
“I know it,” cried Richard warmly; “but don’t talk of my love affair. We shall never agree till the scales of prejudice have dropped from your eyes.”