There was something exceedingly animal in Rolph’s aspect and manner at this time, so much that it was impossible to help comparing him to an angry combative dog. He snuffed and growled audibly; he showed his teeth; and his eyes literally glared as he appeared ready to dash at his enemy, and engage in a fierce struggle in defence of what he looked upon as his just rights.
Had Alleyne made any sign of resistance, Rolph would have called upon his brute force, and struck him; but the idea of resenting Rolph’s violence of word and look did not occur to Alleyne. He had sinned, he felt, socially against Glynne; he had allowed his passion to master him, and he told himself he was receiving but his due.
The painful scene was at last brought to an end, when once more Rolph turned to Glynne, saying angrily,—
“Why don’t you speak? Why don’t you tell me what is wrong?”
He shook her arm violently, and as he spoke Alleyne felt a thrill of passionate anger run through him that this man should dare to act thus, and to address the gentle, graceful woman before him in such a tone. It was maddening, and a prophetic instinct made him imagine the treatment Glynne would receive when she had been this man’s wife for years.
At last Glynne found words, and said hastily,—
“Mr Alleyne made a private communication to me. He said words that he must now regret. That is all. It was a mistake. Let us leave here. Take me to my father—at once.”
Rolph took Glynne’s hand, and drew it beneath his arm, glaring at Alleyne the while like some angry dog; but though Lucy stood there, fierce and excited, and longing to dash into the fray as she looked from Rolph to Glynne and back, her brother did not even raise his eyes. A strange thrill of rage, resentment and despair ran through him, but he could not trust himself to meet Rolph’s eye. He stood with his brow knit, motionless, as if stunned by the incidents of the past few minutes, and no words left his lips till he was alone with Lucy, who threw herself sobbing in his arms.