But, even when her father had gone, the path was still blocked to Angela.
“What!” said George, who was, when in an amiable mood, that worst of all cads, a jocose cad, “are you going to play truant, too, my pretty cousin? Then first you must pay the penalty, not a very heavy one, however.” And he threw his long arm round her waist, and prepared to give her a cousinly embrace.
At first Angela, not being accustomed to little jokes of the sort, did not understand what his intentions were, but as soon as she did, being an extremely powerful young woman, she soon put a stop to them, shaking George away from her so sharply by a little swing of her lithe body, that, stumbling over a footstool in his rapid backward passage, he in a trice measured his length upon the floor. Seeing what she had done, Angela turned and fled after her father.
As for Arthur, the scene was too much for his risible nerves, and he fairly roared with laughter, whilst even Lady Bellamy went as near to it as she ever did.
George rose white with wrath.
“Mr. Heigham,” he said, “I see nothing to laugh at in an accident.”
“Don’t you?” replied Arthur. “I do; it is just the most ludicrous accident that I ever saw.”
George turned away muttering something that it was perhaps as well his guest did not hear, and at once began to attack Lady Bellamy.
“My dear George,” was her rejoinder, “let this little adventure teach you that it is not wise for middle-aged men to indulge in gallantries towards young ladies, and especially young ladies of thews and sinews. Good-night.”
At the same moment the footman announced that the dog-cart which Arthur had ordered was waiting for him.