"Really, is this quite the place?" said Ronder, motioning with his hand towards Bassett's broad back, and the massive sterns of the two horses that rose and fell, like tubs on a rocking sea.
But Brandon was past caution, past wisdom, past discipline. He could see nothing now but Ronder's two rosy cheeks and the round gleaming spectacles that seemed to catch his words disdainfully and suspend them there in indifference. "Excuse me. It is time indeed. It is long past the time. If you think that you can come here, a complete stranger, and do what you like with the institutions here, you are mistaken, and thoroughly mistaken. There are those here who have the interests of the place at heart and guard and protect them. Your conceit has blinded you, allow me to tell you, and it's time that you had a more modest estimate of yourself and doings."
"This really isn't the place," murmured Ronder, struggling to avoid Brandon's knees.
"Yes, atheism is nothing to you!" shouted the Archdeacon. "Nothing at all! You had better be careful! I warn you!"
"You had better be careful," said Ronder, smiling in spite of himself, "or you will be out of the carriage."
That smile was the final insult. Brandon, jumped up, rocking on his feet. "Very well, then. You may laugh as you please. You may think it all a very good joke. I tell you it is not. We are enemies, enemies from this moment. You have never been anything but my enemy."
"Do take care, Archdeacon, or you really will be out of the carriage."
"Very well. I will get out of it. I refuse to drive with you another step. I refuse. I refuse."
"But you can't walk. It's six miles."
"I will walk! I will walk! Stop and let me get out! Stop, I say!"