But Bassett who, according to his back, was as innocent of any dispute as the small birds on the neighbouring tree, drove on.
"Stop, I say. Can't you hear?" The Archdeacon plunged forward and pulled Bassett by the collar. "Stop! Stop!" The wagonette abruptly stopped.
Bassett's amazed face, two wide eyes in a creased and crumpled surface, peered round.
"It's war, I tell you. War!" Brandon climbed out. "But listen, Archdeacon! You can't!"
"Drive on! Drive on!" cried Brandon, standing in the road and shaking his umbrella.
The wagonette drove on. It disappeared over the ledge of the hill.
There was a sudden silence. Brandon's anger pounded up into his head in great waves of constricting passion. These gradually faded. His knees were trembling beneath him. There were new sounds--birds singing, a tiny breeze rustling the hedges. No living soul in sight. He had suddenly a strange impulse to shed tears. What had he been saying? What had he been doing? He did not know what he had said. Another of his tempers....
The pain attacked his head--like a sword, like a sword.
He found a stone and sat down upon it. The pain invaded him like an active personal enemy. Down the road it seemed to him figures were moving--Hogg, Davray--that other world--the dust rose in little clouds.
What had he been doing? His head! Where did this pain come from?