"D—— you!" Bramshaw cried, rising to his feet. "I was willing to be friendly with you, but you insult me to my face."
"That's much better than insulting you behind your back, isn't it? You are sure who does it and you can act accordingly."
"Is that a challenge to fight?"
"Take it any way you like. I am anxious to get my hands on somebody to-day, for I want a little exercise. I'm getting tired of doing nothing."
"But there's nothing to be gained by fighting," Bramshaw protested.
"What reason have we for fighting?"
Jasper gave a sarcastic laugh, and looked the artist up and down.
"You certainly wouldn't gain much by fighting, but I would. Sydney Bramshaw, I believe you are a miserable sneak, ay, and worse, and it would be a great satisfaction for me to get my hands on your measly carcass just for two minutes."
Under the impulse of the moment Jasper had left the road and approached close to the artist. The latter shrank back and his face paled at the action of his formidable opponent.
"Bah! I wouldn't touch you," Jasper sneered. "I wouldn't spoil your nice clothes and your soft delicate hands. Oh, no. Go on with your work of painting the beautiful things in nature."
For a few seconds Jasper stood and looked upon the man cowering before him. He longed to pierce his very soul that he might learn whether his suspicious were really true. He was tempted to startle him with a question about that envelope. But, no, he felt that it would be better to consult the lawyer before saying anything.