“Well, what about that, Sir Henry Graves?”
“Nothing in particular, Mr. Rock, except that I do not believe it.”
“Don’t you?” answered Samuel with a sneer. “Then perhaps you will throw your eye over this.” And he produced from his pocket a copy of the marriage certificate.
Henry read it, and turned very white; then he handed it back without a word.
“It is all in order, I think?” said Samuel, still sneering.
“Apparently,” Henry answered. “May I ask if—Mrs. Rock—is with you?”
“No, she isn’t. Do you think that I am fool enough to bring her here at present, for you to be sneaking about after her? I know what your game was, ’cause she told me all about it. You were going up to town to-day to get hold of her, weren’t you. Well, you’re an hour behind the fair this time. Joan may have been a bit flighty, but she’s a sensible woman at bottom, and she knew better than to trust herself to a scamp without a sixpence, like you, when she might have an honest man and a good home. I told you I meant to marry her, and you see I have kept my word. And now look you here, Sir Henry Graves: just you keep clear of her in future, for if I catch you so much as speaking to her, it will be the worse both for yourself and Joan, not that she cares a rotten herring about you, although she did fool you so prettily.”
‘And now ... get out of my way before I forget myself.’