"He kicked Mr. Giveen."
"Good!" said Mr. Dashwood. "If I'd been there I'd have drowned him."
"Mr. French wanted to. At least, he wanted to duck him."
"I'll tell you what," said Dashwood. "If this beast comes near Crowsnest, I won't be answerable for what I'll do to him."
"That would be the worst policy in the world," said Miss Grimshaw. "If he comes here we must meet him with his own weapons if we can—but he won't come here."
In this she was wrong.
"I wouldn't mind so much," she finished, "only for this wretched bazaar on the 5th. I have to help at a stall. You can imagine what it must be to keep a straight face and smile at people one doesn't particularly care for, standing all the time, as it were, on a powder magazine. Besides, just imagine, if a man in possession came down, and if the fact leaks out, how all these Crowsnest society people will snub us and sneer at us! You don't know them. I do."
"There are an awful lot of old cats here," conceded Mr. Dashwood, not knowing what else to say.
"Makes one feel one would like to put out poisoned milk for them," said the girl. "Well, here we are, and there's Mr. French."
They had reached the top of the path, and French, who was standing in the verandah of the bungalow, like a watchman on the look-out for enemies, hailed them.