'There is room for you, Mr. Weyburn,' said Aminta.
Mrs. Pagnell puffed.
'I can't think we've room, my dear. I want that bit of seat in front for my feet.'
Morsfield kicked at his horse's flanks, and between Weyburn and the chariot step, cried: 'Back, sir!'
His reins were seized; the horse reared, the unexpected occurred.
Weyburn shouted 'Off!' to the postillion, and jumped in.
Morsfield was left to the shaking of a dusty coat, while the chariot rolled its gentle course down the leafy lane into the high-road.
His friend had seized the horse's bridle-reins; and he remarked: 'I say,
Dolf, we don't prosper to-day.'
'He pays for it!' said Morsfield, foot in stirrup. 'You'll take him and trounce him at the inn. I don't fight with servants. Better game. One thing, Cumnock: the fellow's clever at the foils.'
'Foils to the devil! If I tackle the fellow, it won't be with the buttons. But how has he pushed in?'