“I am,” said the major, “a good many. I feel as if there is nothing that would agree with me better than a deuced good quarrel with somebody.”
“Then hang it, man, why didn’t you quarrel with Alleyne—take your niece’s part?”
“Alleyne is not a man I could quarrel with,” said the major sharply. “There, I’ll go and have a few words with Rolph about the cool way in which he takes a quarrel that you look upon as almost vital.”
“No, no, for goodness sake don’t do anything of the kind,” cried Sir John sharply, and he caught his brother by the shoulder. “My dear Jem, don’t be absurd.”
The major muttered something that was inaudible, and struck right across the park towards the house, by the lawn, while Sir John, feeling out of humour with his brother, with Rolph, and even with himself, went on along the carriage drive to encounter his prospective son-in-law after a few minutes, perspiring and panting after running fifteen hundred yards towards a mile.
“Hullo! back?” panted Rolph.
“Yes,” said Sir John abruptly.
“Well, what did he say?”
“I’ll tell you after dinner,” replied Sir John sourly; “your training must be too important to be left.”
“What did he mean?” said Rolph to himself as he stood watching Sir John’s retreating form. “Why, the old boy looks as if he had been huffed. Bah! I wish he wouldn’t come and stop me when I’m running; he has given me quite a chill.”