Cullyngham, who had been restraining himself with difficulty, turned suddenly round and advanced upon him.
"Get out!" he said, his eyes blazing.
Pip, who was lounging on the arm of a chair, never stirred.
"If you will sit down for five minutes," he observed steadily, "I'll give you a few reasons for my assurance in this matter. The fact is, Cullyngham, you aren't in a position to retaliate. To-day, for instance, you were wearing the colours of your old school club. You are not a member. They don't elect people who have been—sacked. Also, I came across a friend of yours not long ago. She wanted your address, or rather her daughter did. Her name was—"
Cullyngham, whose face had been gradually changing from a lowering red to a delicate green, suddenly noticed that the door was standing ajar. He hurried across the room, shut it, and turned the key.
Ten minutes later the door opened again, and Pip stepped out into the dark passage. An item in his host's valedictory remarks took him back into the room again, and he stood holding the door-handle as he spoke.
"Cullyngham, you certainly owe me one for this, so you can blackguard me to your heart's content. Also, you may interpret my motives as you like; but—we will leave ladies' names out of this question, please. Remember that!"
V
At breakfast next morning, amid much masculine concern and feminine lamentation, Cullyngham announced that unexpected and urgent family business called him away to town.
The Squire expostulated.