“I’m going to kill this one, Jem. Then we’ll bury it,” said Sir John grimly. “Now, you be off. I sha’n’t upset Mrs Alleyne. I won’t see her.”
“Nor yet Lucy Alleyne?”
“Not if she keeps out of my way. Ugh! I haven’t patience with the smooth-spoken little minx. It’s horrible: such depravity in one so young.”
The major sighed, and kept tightly hold of his brother’s arm. Two or three times over he had turned rather red in the face, the flush playing to and fro as if an angry storm were arising, but he mastered himself, and held his squadron of angry words well in hand.
“Now, look here, Jem,” said the baronet at last, as they came in sight of The Firs, “I don’t want to be hampered with you. Do go back.”
“My dear Jack, as an old soldier, let me tell you that it is next to impossible to make an advance without being hampered with baggage and the commissariat. You may call me which you please, but if you are going to attack the people at The Firs, you must have me on your back, so take it as calmly as you can.”
Sir John uttered an angry grunt, and was disposed to explode, but, by a strong effort, he got over his fit.
“If you will insist upon having a finger in the pie, come on then,” he cried.
“Yes, I’ll come on,” said the major, “and I know I need say no more to you about being calm and gentlemanly. There, I won’t say another syllable.”
In fact neither spoke a word till they had climbed up the sandy path and reached the gate at The Firs, where Sir John set the bell clanging loudly, and Eliza hurried down.